


The Explosion

by AmyTheAuthor



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Harrymort obsession and relationship included along with Tomarry, M/M, Obsession, Older Harry Potter, Possessive Voldemort, Pureblood Customs, Tom believed to be a Muggleborn, Younger Tom Riddle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-31 10:16:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 56,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8574454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmyTheAuthor/pseuds/AmyTheAuthor
Summary: Usually, in other Fics, Harry goes to the past, meets an older or same age Tom in Hogwarts, and is sorted into Slytherin. Harry is usually there to change Tom and Tom is a “teenage Dark Lord.” In THIS Fic, Tom is a bullied 3rd year, believed to be a Mud-blood, and has his first ever crush on Henry Peverell, the 6th year Gryffindor, who is not there to change Tom, but rather...





	1. Chapter 1

“How old are you?” The stranger, who had just grabbed Harry’s elbow and jerked him to a stop, demanded.

Harry raised an eyebrow and examined the man’s, admittedly, very attractive face. He looked to be around his early twenties. Because of his question, Harry assumed that he worked here and was hoping to throw Harry’s underage ass out the bar’s front door. He was not dressed as a barkeep though. He was wearing the finest Pure-blood clothing of black and Slytherin green. It was a stark contrast between Harry’s very red, very Gryffindor, Pureblood outfit that he had transfigured from regular robes, using a slew of charms and glamours to make the outfit appear to be of the highest quality to blend in. The man had dirty blond hair that looked as if it was naturally straight but had been styled to swirl and stick up all over the place. Despite that, his bangs fell beautifully into his light blue eyes, drawing one's gaze there, which was alluring to say the least.

The man’s hair reminded Harry of his own hair in its natural state. Of course, not at the moment, since he had disguised himself by casting a charm on his unmanageable black nest to turn it into straight, soft locks with bangs that he continuously had to flip out of his bright green eyes. Harry pondered for a moment why this stranger would want his hair to look like that on purpose. Wasn’t that an unattractive hairstyle? He had always thought so about his own natural look, but he had to admit that it was anything but unattractive when he saw it on this stranger. In fact, he realized, it looked like “recently shagged” hair.

Harry cleared his throat to rid his mind of that thought. “Who wants to know?” he replied instead, slowly allowing his gaze to travel down the man’s fit, slim body, but, when he looked back up, the stranger seemed extremely angry that Harry had checked him out.  _ He must be homophobic or something _ , Harry thought with a slight frown.

“Marvolo,” was the one worded answer.

Harry’s eyebrows raised with recognition and surprise before his eyes narrowed into slits, and he assessed the stranger with suspicion. “As far as I’m aware, that name is associated with Voldemort.” That was Tom Riddle’s middle name; Harry knew because of his experience with the diary, and he was not about to trust anyone who would use it. It had to be a fake name, a lie, to keep Harry from knowing the man’s— who was obviously a Death Eater—real identity.

_ A Death eater who works at a bar? _ He asked himself.  _ Probably to overhear as much important gossip as possible. And,  _ he realized _ , he must be very close to Voldemort if he knows his bloody middle name. But…this man has never been in any of my visions… _

Just as Harry was starting to realize that the name Marvolo could possibly be a normal name in the Wizarding World and he may have just said something extremely reckless, he heard someone whisper sharply, “…Dark Lord.” He frowned, but didn’t turn his head to look at anyone. He could tell that they were being watched. Marvolo had drawn enough attention to them by grabbing him in the middle of the room that everyone within earshot even halfway listening to them had heard him say Voldemort’s name.

It seemed that the unwanted attention from their spectators had bothered Marvolo as well, because he glared in the direction where the loudest whispers were coming from, which was a table behind and to the right of where Harry stood. When his gaze came back to Harry’s unfazed face—unfazed due to extreme self control—his anger seemed to lessen and a twinkle of amusement appeared within those light blue eyes.

“You speak the Dark Lord’s name without fear,” he stated rather than asked. “How… fascinating.”

Harry, hoping to get out of this situation, grasped Marvolo’s wrist and removed the man's hand from his elbow.

“I see you aren’t denying your association with Voldemort.” He maintained the original subject, hoping for a sign that he was right, despite worrying that he might be jumping to conclusions too soon.

Another round of gasps were heard around them followed by sharp whispers. They were louder now. Apparently it was not commonplace to hear or say Voldemort’s name even in places containing only Pure-bloods.

A small smile graced Marvolo’s handsome face. “Fascinating indeed,” he seemed to say only to himself, before abruptly asking, “Your age?”

“Listen,” Harry evaded yet again, taking a step back, which seemed to irritate Marvolo, making his smile disappear and anger begin to return to his features, “I am only passing through. I was looking for someone who is no longer here. Now,” Harry’s voice seemed to declare that he was finished with this conversation entirely, “if you will excuse me.” He bowed slightly, the way a Pure-blood would, turned swiftly, and began taking long, determined strides toward the door at the front of the bar, sidestepping anyone in his way to gracefully glide through the crowd.

Once he was outside in the biting winter wind and snow that was up to his ankles, he walked to the middle of the pathway that cut straight through the town and whispered, “Point me, Neville Longbottom.” His wand obeyed, and he sighed when he saw the Wizard’s club that it was indicating. “Of course he’s inside the strip club,” he announced to the empty air, shaking his head and continuing inside, unaware that Marvolo was trailing not far behind, waiting a moment before entering the club after Harry to keep his presence unknown.

 x x x x x x

Harry opened his eyes and blinked a few times, a frown gracing his features. This was the ninth time in the past three months that he had dreamt of the Death Eater he had met in that bar roughly six months ago, during his fifth year at Hogwarts, when he had needed to retrieve Neville in order to stop Umbridge from discovering Neville’s nightly disappearances. It was odd to Harry that he could dream of anything other than Sirius’s death, which had happened so recently that the images of his Godfather and the fight against Voldemort were still vivid inside his mind.

Harry put on his glasses and got out of bed. He proceeded through the Muggle house until he reached the kitchen. He began his daily chore of making breakfast for the Dursley’s, but his mind was still replaying the memories of that strange night.

He had gone to fetch Neville because he, too, took nightly strolls and would feel terrible if Neville was discovered while he wasn’t. Being a kind Gryffindor, Harry set out to find the young Wizard. He had been shocked when he realized that, according to the map, Neville was not inside the castle at all.

Thinking quickly, Harry transfigured his Hogwarts clothing into casual Wizardry clothing to avoid unwanted surveillance. When he arrived in Hogsmead, his wand lead him to a bar he had passed many times, but had never paid attention to previously. He peaked inside for a short second and decided to go in through the back door to draw the least amount of eyes.

He had noticed all the fancy, Pure-blood attire and casual yet haughty attitudes of even the drunks that were inside this particular establishment, therefore, before going in, he transfigured and charmed his clothing to look much, much nicer and decided that mostly black and red robes would suit him very well. He was proud to be a Gryffindor and a Potter after all. Once finished, he entered, and was relieved when no one paid him any attention. He looked around for a very short moment, ignoring anything that did not resemble Neville, until his eyes landed on the front door. Neville was laughing happily, hanging on the arm of a young man and...leaving.

_Bloody hell,_ Harry had cursed inside his mind as he took off after them, remembering to feign graceful, careful movements, and a Pure-blood aura. He could not seem like a Muggle-raised Wizard at the moment. Despite most of the occupants within the bar being intoxicated, he was aware that they still had the ability to duel. Therefore, his chin was held high, his back straight, but not tense, and his walk as elegant as possible.

He had done this more than once this year when he had wanted to get away from Hogwarts and the irritation he felt when around it because of his inability to control his surroundings. Because of that, he did not feel so uncomfortable when faking the act of a rich, young Wizard, but the feeling was still slightly there, although he hid it masterfully behind a mask of a calm expression. He couldn’t quite feign “indifference” within his expression because he was Harry bloody Potter, The Boy Who Was Indifferent Toward Nothing because he had a heart too big to carry the weight of the world upon.

It was then that the stranger had so rudely yanked him to a stop and made a spectacle out of him. He had been very surprised that the man had even noticed him. No one else had. Harry still thought that was uncanny. It only made sense that, despite the man’s attire, he must have been working there and actively alert to his surroundings to prevent minors from...

_But Neville was there,_ Harry suddenly realized for the first time since this had happened. Neville had definitely looked too young to be there, while Harry had taken precautions to blend in. __N_ eville was born into Pure-blood society though,_ Harry thought as he flipped an egg. _I must have done something that gave myself away. Maybe I actually did look tense and uncomfortable. I thought I had hidden it, but..._

“Hmm,” Harry hummed out loud, accepting his explanation with a displeased frown.

“You have been in a bad mood the moment you came into the kitchen.” His Aunt Petunia’s voice startled him, making him look at her sitting form at the table with wide eyes. “I do not want your freakish moods to poison my breakfast.”

Harry said nothing as he finished his cooking, prepared the plates, put two of them inside the microwave to heat up when Uncle Vernon and Cousin Dudley came down after their usual morning routines. He placed one in front of his Aunt and carried his own up to his room. Now that he was older, Petunia said nothing if he prepared meals for himself as long as he ate them away from the family, preferably locked away inside his room.

Tomorrow, Harry would be returning to Hogwarts. It would be his sixth year and, without the existence of his loving Godfather, it was going to be a difficult year for him to swallow. Not to mention the knowledge the prophecy bestowed upon him. He didn’t want to kill anyone. Perhaps Belatrix Lestrange... To be honest, he just wanted neutrality and the promise that his remaining loved ones would be safe.

_Like that would ever happen,_ he moped as he ate his breakfast in silence.

x x x x x x

Author's Note:

I know Harry was not this forgiving after Sirius died. I know he was angry and hurting. I know this is not exactly like canon. I'm not trying to make it canon. I didn't write Harry Potter. I merely wanted to explain where we were in terms of time (Harry's summer after 5th year, going into his 6th year). I also wanted to explain a few things before we get to the main plot as well as throw some foreshadowing in at the very beginning. Who doesn't love foreshadowing, right? :)

If you would like to read chapters that I've actually changed and scenes I've dropped and unfinished throughts for this story as I write it, please feel free to follow me on Tumblr. My username is AmyTheAuthor.

If Ao3 allows links, you should be able to click this link to be directed to my Tumblr account: http://amytheauthor.tumblr.com/

Thanks for reading!

Please review if you'd like or just follow/favorite.

Amy

*UPDATE: April 23rd 2017 - Top half of chapter updated.*


	2. Chapter 2

Tom sat at the very end of the Slytherin table while the rest of the students that should have been crowded around him, were squished together to keep as far away from him as possible, as if he were a disease. Today was the second day of his third year attending Hogwarts and, so far, nothing had changed. He had hoped for another Muggle-born to be sorted into his house, since he was the only one, but the sorting hat was cruel. His Pure-blood housemates still treated him like Mud-blood trash, leaving him friendless and isolated. The bruises on his face, as well as many other parts of his body which were concealed underneath his robes, were all that he had gained as proof of his attempt to fight back against the bullies last night. No one here was weak enough for him to defeat and prove his worth as a Slytherin, as a Wizard.

_No_ , he thought sullenly, _I'm just not strong enough. If only I could bring more than two books with me over the summer. I'll show them all. Someday..._

"Silence please," came the friendly voice of Headmaster Dippet. "I have a surprising, yet no less wonderful, announcement."

Tom looked up from his untouched dinner toward the head table. What he saw made him frown in confusion and his dark brown eyes light up with curiosity. A handsome boy stood beside the old man. He had strange hair. It was black, straight, shiny, and he wore it in his eyes. Literally. In fact, the boy was flipping his head to the side right now to toss his bangs from obscuring his view. Tom had never seen someone style their hair in such a way. Almost every boy, aside from a select few, either had a perfectly straight part in their hair that was off to one side of their head, occasionally using styling grease to keep it in place, or very short hair so they would not have to deal with it falling into their faces. Even Tom's hair was parted and greased down on both sides to keep it from curling. He hated that it curled.

"This," the old man began as he wrapped an arm around the strange-looking, yet surprisingly gorgeous, teenager's shoulders, "is Henry Peverell."

Tom felt as if he had heard that last name before. When the Pure-bloods at his table began to gasp and whisper, he knew why. It was a Pure-blood name. Despite suddenly feeling less interested, he politely kept his attention on the Headmaster.

"This is not the first time Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has had a transfer student, however it _is_ the first time a transfer student has arrived _after_ the first day of the new school year."

_So what?_ Tom complained silently, now glaring at the boy whose gaze was locked upon the Gryffindor table. _He's just another handsome, rich Pure-blood with too much money._

Much to Tom's surprise, Mr. Peverell's attention turned to him, causing him to subconsciously sit straighter in his seat. Perhaps he wasn't looking at Tom. Perhaps he was looking at someone near him and the angle only made it seem as if he were looking in Tom's direction. To test the theory, Tom turned his head to the right to see if anyone had scooted closer to him or was actively doing something to grab Mr. Peverell's attention. As far as he could tell, the new student really had been looking at him.

Returning his gaze to the head table and the always-chatty Headmaster, Tom's heart jolted when he realized those eyes were still watching him, examining him _very_ closely. Someone was actually noticing _him_. He had no idea what to think. His immediate reaction was to be suspicious.

_Maybe he,_ Tom tried to rationalize the situation, _wants to bully me like the other Pure-bloods. He must think it strange that a Muggle-born was sorted into the house famous for blood purity. That has to be it._

"Now," the Headmaster was saying, "without further ado..." He ushered Henry toward the sorting hat and stool.

Before Henry sat down upon the stool, Tom noticed the way the boy walked. It was the most graceful posture and stride that Tom had ever seen. It had caused the black robes the boy wore to billow beautifully behind him. Tom wanted to see it again. He wanted to memorize it, copy it, and intimidate with it. That walk practically screamed power.

The hat was placed upon the new student's head and Tom awaited the shout with just as much curiosity as the rest of his peers for once. This was an obviously powerful, influential Pure-blood, so why had he noticed him, a Muggle-born? Surely he had been looking at a Pure-blood sitting at his table and the angle had made Tom believe those eyes had landed upon his pathetically bruised face. Tom was invisible and diseased according to everyone in this castle. That was not going to change.

"Gryffindor!" the hat shouted.

The sliver of hope that Tom had tried to stomp out of his heart before this happened sank in his chest like a ten ton brick and he looked down at his plate again with an angry frown. Why had he gotten his hopes up anyway? Henry Peverell was a Pure-blood, which meant he was vile and cruel. Of course, there were Pure-bloods in the other houses that did not hate Muggle-borns, but, even if Henry Peverell were like them, he and Tom were now in different houses, so it didn't matter.

Tom was ashamed of himself. He hadn't been so foolish as to hope someone would take notice of him since he was a small child at the orphanage just wanting a family to take him away. He had realized quickly that no one would adopt him since the vile woman, the matron that was in charge of the Orphanage, believed him to be devil spawn due to his strange magical abilities and told the parents to keep away from him.

Tom looked up toward the head table again, but the Headmaster was sitting in his usual spot and the boy was gone. Tom wasn't sure why, but he began to scan the Gryffindor table. He told himself that he was merely looking at a table full of ordinary students and not actively seeking anyone out of the bunch, but his breath hitched in his throat as fast as that lie died inside his mind when he saw that Henry Peverell was staring directly at him. Closely. Eagerly. Openly.

To Tom's horror, he felt his cheeks begin to heat up and his heart rate increase. He was so embarrassed and shocked that someone was honestly noticing him that he, to his embarrassed horror at a later date of reflection, actually looked around to see if those piercing eyes could be watching someone else _again_. He finally admitted that they weren't and his face was only turning pinker by the minute, so he looked down at his plate, which he couldn't do so for too long and would find himself staring right back. Awkwardly.

The other Gryffindors were all around Henry, smiling, laughing, and seemingly talking to him, but he would only move his eyes away from Tom for a short moment to answer them before they were back to searching Tom's bruised face with rapture. This pattern lasted for the rest of dinner time. Tom would later wonder why no one had noticed their staring, but would be extremely grateful that no one had, especially his fellow Slytherins.

When the meal disappeared to indicate it was time to adjourn for the evening, Tom remained seated, despite desperately wishing to go to the library immediately to continue his research and escape this situation. During his first year, the other Slytherins had made it very clear that he was not allowed to leave the Great Hall at the same time or before them. To them, he was trash and "trash waits for its superiors to leave the table before it does" apparently.

Tom watched as the Pure-bloods rose from their seats, some gracefully, others less gracefully, as if they were incapable of doing anything in an informal way even when they were being lazy or actively trying to appear sloppy. He then turned his attention to the Ravenclaw house, like usual, since it contained so many of his fellow Muggle-borns. He watched them rise and compared the two. None of them were graceful and he knew that was how he looked when standing and walking. He had tried to change his posture and habits, but it was much harder than he had anticipated.

Suddenly, he remembered how gracefully Henry Peverell had been. Tom couldn't stop himself from searching out the spot at the Gryffindor table that he had been staring at for the past hour, but, to his immense disappointment, Henry was not there. Tom mentally berated himself for looking away from him for even a moment and then berated himself again for that appalling thought.

Tom hadn't noticed that many of the Gryffindors that had yet to leave their table were looking in his direction. Because he was lost deeply in thought, wondering why he was so hyper aware of the new student, he jumped when a soft, "Hello," came from beside him. He snapped his head to the left to find that the very person clogging his brain was smiling handsomely down at him from where he stood at the end of the table.

"I apologize," Henry told him smoothly. "I didn't mean to startle you."

Tom gaped at him, horrified to feel his blush returning.

"I came over to introduce myself," Henry continued, pausing momentarily to smile wider when Tom quickly closed his mouth. "I'm sure you heard before, but my name is Henry Peverell." He bowed slightly, just as any other Pure-blood would, but then held out his hand as a Muggle greeting in the form of a handshake. "It's nice to meet you..." He left the end of his sentence open, obviously indicating that he wished for Tom to tell him his name.

Tom cleared his throat, nodded jerkily and clasped the hand offered to him. "Tom Riddle," he replied quietly.

_This must be a trick,_ his mind was screaming at him.

"Tom..." He said the name so softly, so fondly, that Tom's heart lodged into his throat. No one had ever spoken his first name in such a way. Honestly, no one spoke his first name at all. It was always "Riddle" from the Muggles, "you, Mud-blood," from his peers in Hogwarts, or "young Mr. Riddle" from the Hogwarts teachers. "Do you mind if I sit with you?"

Tom immediately opened his mouth to ask why. So much of him wanted to deny Henry's request. He was much too nervous to sit with this handsome boy. There was another part of him that wanted Henry to sit down beside him anyway. A familiar voice from behind him caused his words to catch and die inside his throat, thus intervening with his reply that probably would have turned into a rejection.

"A Gryffindor from the famous Pure-blood Peverell ancestry, sit with a _Slytherin_ , and a _Mud-blood_ no less?"

Henry's eyes snapped to the voice behind him and he watched his friendly expression morph into anger. Tom turned to see his oldest bully, Charles Hornby and two others he didn't care to take note of, standing with a snide smirk on his face. He was oldest in age. He would be graduating from Hogwarts this year, but Tom knew that the others wouldn't stop their harassment just because Hornby was gone.

"Leave that _filth_ ," his younger sister, Olive Hornby, who stood beside her brother scowling at Tom, demanded. "If you'd like to befriend a Slytherin," her tone changed from disgusted to flirtatious in an instant as she smiled at Henry, "you should really choose someone more suitable for a Pure-blood such as yourself, Mr. Peverell."

Tom's entire face flamed red. It was humiliating to be ostracized so openly each day, but it was even more so when it was in front of someone he had hoped had honestly wanted to befriend him. He was sure that there was no way Henry wanted to be in his company any longer, so, when he looked back at the boy's face, he was shocked to find Henry's expression had changed from mere anger to complete fury.

"I apologize, Tom." Henry spoke to him while continuing to glare furiously at the others. "I was unaware that this area contained _filth_." Tom's mind immediately jumped to the same conclusion the others had, if their cruel grins were any indication. "Therefore..." Henry continued, finally looking down at him once more. He elegantly offered his hand before Tom, whose spirits rose immediately, as well as his suspicions. "...I would like to ask you to join me for a chat elsewhere, _away_ from the filth."

Tom was no fool. He was not about to make a mistake like walking out of the Great Hall with a Gryffindor, let alone one he had only just met. If Henry's intentions were not so chivalrous, Tom would have dug his own grave by following him blindly. Part of him wanted to take that hand that seemed so kind and warm and generous, but the other, more sensible part, knew he couldn't.

Tom stood without taking Henry's hand and, keeping his eyes glued to the floor, rounded the table to the other side where only a few harmless gawkers were standing and headed straight for the exit.

_I will be sleeping in the library again,_ he noted sullenly to himself.

x

Author's Note:

I am still not completely sure this is how I wanted this chapter to be, but I am mostly writing this Fic out of personal enjoyment, so a lot of this is like a rough draft rather than the final result. I mean, realistically, if I could write perfectly, this would have been written with more...suspicion and cautiousness from Tom rather than embarrassment. You know? I think he would have been hopeful and happy to know someone at Hogwarts had finally taken notice of him, but I also thought he'd be way more cautious.

If you felt that way as well, feel free to say so. Please give me feedback about how you felt about thirteen-year-old Tom Riddle's point of view. It was difficult to write. I even have the first draft of this chapter posted on Tumblr (amytheauthor.tumblr.com) that was even worse than this chapter in my opinion. It was my first try at getting younger Tom written correctly and I felt as if I had failed miserably. If you'd like to check it out, feel free.

As always, follow, favorite, and review if you'd like!

Thanks.

Amy


	3. Chapter 3 (revised)

**This chapter is set before Harry is sent to the past.**

—

Once inside the Wizard’s club, Harry asked his wand to point him toward Neville Longbottom once more, but no matter how hard he strained his eyes, he couldn’t spot him in the darkness of the surprisingly high class club. People were sitting at dining tables eating, drinking, laughing, and talking quietly as they watched the lit stage where beautiful, provocative young men and women were currently performing.

Before Harry could decide where to go from there, a man blocked his view of the stage, which, other than the dim candles along the walls, was the only source of light in the room. He was holding a handful of menus in his arms and dressed in a very revealing uniform. A waiter.

“Hello,” he beamed, “and welcome to Cerberus Cabaret.” His eyes locked onto something behind Harry. “Table for two?”

Harry frowned and turned.

“Yes,” the strange man from earlier, Marvolo, nodded politely to the waiter, and stepped forward to stand beside Harry, “a table for two. Please lead the way.” He then looked down at Harry and his haughty, serious expression became that of a haughty, charming expression, fit with a contagious smile. He held out his elbow for Harry to take. “There are quite a few eyes on us. I'm sure that you would prefer not to cause a spectacle.”

Harry didn’t attempt to look around. He knew he would not be able to see anything other than the stage at the moment. His eyes still hadn’t adjusted. Without thinking too hard about the situation, he took Marvolo’s elbow and allowed himself to be led. The waiter stopped at a table near the middle of the room and began to place their menus down, but Marvolo’s stern voice caused him to stop.

“Take us to a private table and you will be provided a very,” he looked down at Harry in an arrogant, yet strangely provocative and charming way, “ _generous,_ ” he emphasized that word to Harry himself before looking back up at the waiter to finish his sentence, “tip.”

_What was that about?_

Harry immediately looked forward at the waiter again, taking a (hopefully quiet) deep breath. Self control was key and he would force down any arousal he had felt from that suggestive display. What had he even meant by it? Harry had no idea, but he couldn't help another question from clouding his mind: why was he always attracted to danger like a magnet? It was like he…wanted…it…

He lit that thought on fire to destroy it…

…but it blazed with life.

The waiter beamed and hastily sped away. Harry measured his movements to match Marvolo’s as they walked. It allowed them to seem much more graceful to the peeping, judgmental eyes. If even one of the people around them thought he was not part of their high-class world of perfect posture and elegance… Truthfully, he hadn’t messed up yet, so he had no idea what would happen. Nothing good.

The beginnings of panic started to rise within the pit of his stomach. Could he handle this? He had managed to conquer far worse situations. The objective was simply to retrieve Neville and have them both back in their beds within three hours. Remembering that no one here knew who he was, not even the mysterious man walking beside him, helped to ease him back into a calm mindset. That was the very reason why he enjoyed changing his appearance and leaving the castle. Here, when looking and acting like this, he was not “Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived.”

Satisfied with that thought, he sat down gracefully -- in the chair Marvolo had gentlemanly pulled out for him -- and did not so much as flinch when the waiter began listing the different alcoholic drinks they had available that Harry had never heard of, let alone tried, before. Marvolo immediately ordered drinks for both of them. The waiter, who hadn’t paid Harry so much as a glance since Marvolo had mentioned a large tip, took their menus back and promptly left.

“Had I known I would be taking you out this evening, I would have been sure to provide you with a much better arrangement than this establishment.”

Harry examined the stranger across from him. Despite the man's very good looks, Harry feigned indifference. The best way to seem like a Pure-blood was to act apathetic, calm, and arrogant.

“Had I known I would be accompanying a strange man for drinks tonight, _Marvolo,_ ” he had changed his voice to sound disgusted and cold when he spoke the man’s name, but quickly changed it back to light and indifferent afterward, “I would have provided you with a much better arrangement by remaining at the-” he quickly replaced the words he was about to say with, “-by remaining indoors this evening.”

_‘At the castle?’_ He shouted internally.

He knew the best way to amend his mistake was to change the subject.

“I was looking for someone,” he blurted out. It was all he could think of. “You interrupted me.”

Marvolo’s smile was charming. “Perhaps I could offer assistance. Who is it you are searching for?”

Harry looked away. He still found it hard to look people in the eye for very long, unless he was angry or being confronted. It was a habit that had formed while he was young. He blamed the Dursley’s.

“I’d rather not say,” he replied quietly, his attention suddenly elsewhere.

After he had looked away, he had noticed that their table was only about five feet away from the tables close to it. They were tucked away into a corner, but this was hardly private. It bothered him.

Momentarily forgetting to act aloof, his attention snapped back to Marvolo and he asked with a tone expressing his incredulity, “This is supposed to be a private table?”

Marvolo looked toward the tables as if he, too, were examining them, but, it turned out he had been watching their waiter approach.

“There are special enchantments attached to every private table that silences conversations and keeps others from looking in their direction.”

While Marvolo had been speaking, the waiter had placed their drinks down and he had quickly handed him some form of payment that Harry couldn’t see in this annoying lighting. Marvolo then proceeded to dismiss him with an entitled wave of his hand.

“Not every establishment uses the same privacy spells,” he continued to educate Harry, ignoring the polite words the waiter said as he departed. “Some are better than others. There is a beautiful restaurant in Peru where one never sees nor hears the other guests, even while arriving or exiting.”

Harry was intrigued, but kept his mask of indifference in place, reaching for his drink that was beautiful and sparkling magically. Just as his fingers wrapped around the stem of the wine glass and before his palm was even cupping the bottom of it to lift it, Marvolo stopped him.

“Hold it from the top of the glass,” he demanded, while somehow still sounding polite, lifting his own to show Harry.

Harry, embarrassed that he had done the opposite, asked the following question without thinking, “Is this a common, Pure-blood custom?”

“No,” Marvolo replied, not skipping a beat, as if Harry had not asked something unusual, “but it allows your drink to remain cold for a longer period of time. Your palm heats the drink faster if you hold it from the bottom.”

Feeling at least somewhat secure that Marvolo hadn’t caught his second slip up, he copied the man. He didn’t actually have any intention to drink. Alcohol never sat well with him. He was a lightweight. After a few sips, he would be buzzed. Showing weakness in front of a dangerous (possible) Death Eater was not smart.

He slowly brought the glass toward his lips, watching it come closer, enjoying the strange way the silver specs inside the dark blue liquid glittered mysteriously. When he inhaled the candy-like, blueberry scent, his eyes fluttered closed and he involuntarily smiled.

The cold glass pressed against his lips.

_One sip won't hurt._

He opened his mouth and…

...it tasted like heaven.

It was what one would imagine fresh blueberries would taste like if they grew out of a rainbow and had been blessed by the magical purity of unicorns. It was ridiculous way, yet the _only_ way, that Harry could think to describe its exquisite candy flavor.

The silver specs added a strange attribute to it. Each individual one swirled inside your mouth. They were literally dancing with his taste buds. When he swallowed, they continued to dance down his throat until he couldn't feel them anymore.

He opened his eyes and gazed down at the full glass in his hand. It was so tempting to drink more. He could feel his chest warming with happiness.

Since when did a drink influence a person so much? It was officially his favorite. If there was a drink better than this, he wanted to try it.

“This is your first one.”

Marvolo had said it so quietly, and so gently, that it had barely been above a whisper. To Harry, realizing that he had let his guard down, it may as well have been a shout. His green eyes snapped up from the glass to find the man gazing at him with a strange expression. He looked dangerous and hungry, yet harmless and...

…adoring.

Harry immediately put the drink down. “What is it?” he asked quickly, fearfully.

He had meant, “What type of poison did you put in my drink?” He had accidentally worded his question completely wrong, therefore Marvolo’s answer was not at all satisfying.

“Bleuet,” he said with a strange accent. “It is French Canadian.” His expression became more dangerous, and yet more alluring. “Votre favori.”

“It is your favorite? Oh. Well...” Harry trailed off into silence, having no idea what to say and not realizing that he had misunderstood whose favorite Marvolo had meant.

Harry was panicking, despite hiding it well. He wasn't sure what to do. He had to get out of here. What if the drink really had been poisoned? Why hadn't he thought of that before swallowing?

“How old are you?”

Marvolo was leaning forward over the table, eyes piercing into Harry's. Harry's heart nearly stopped. This man _had_ to know who he was.

_Enough._ Harry's rational side stopped his anxiety from overwhelming him. _If he knew, he would have done something by now. I'm not dead yet. I don't feel poisoned. But I do need to think of a plan to escape._ He turned his head, simply to look longingly in the direction of the exit, but saw someone walking swiftly toward their table. _The waiter! Umm… A plan, a plan, a plan… I'll shove the waiter at him and-_

His thoughts were brought to a screeching halt with one, simple word.

“Boy,” Marvolo said, obviously trying to recapture Harry's attention.

Despite it being said in a stern way that would still be considered polite and in a voice nothing like Uncle Vernon’s, Harry’s reaction was the same as if he were back at the Dursley’s house. His face became stone and his posture tense.

“At least tell me your name,” Marvolo urged impatiently.

Harry's jaw clenched tightly.

Not only was the word “boy” taboo to him, but he had also decided that if anyone saw him in this disguise, he would leave the moment they asked for his name. He had done it a few times already. He had left two very attractive, very horny men behind after some dancing and snogging two separate times. At the time, he had felt it had added to the mystery and the charm of his fake persona.

All thoughts about helping Neville and getting out of this situation without revealing his true identity left his mind as he stood. Just as he took a step away from the table, he felt a sharp pain in his left elbow. Again the stranger had grabbed him. Harry’s anger spiked. He turned, his mouth open to shout, but his other elbow was suddenly being grabbed and yanked in the opposite direction of Marvolo. He turned his neck to see who else would dare shove him around.

“Neville!” he shouted, his anger suddenly dissipating.

A familiar face!

“Shhhh!” Neville pushed his sweaty palm against Harry’s mouth. “Let’s go!” he urged.

“Mm-hmm,” he hummed against Neville’s hand, nodding, only focused on his happiness at finding his friend and being able to leave now.

Neville turned and began to pull Harry along with him, but the vice-like grip on Harry’s other elbow did not disappear and he found himself with both of his arms stretched out on either side of him as they both pulled him in opposite directions.

“Release him.” Marvolo’s voice was no longer light or polite in any way. It was stern and menacing.

Harry turned his head to see that the man now had his wand out as he glared at Neville.

“No one threatens my-” he began to growl, but Marvolo interrupted him.

“That word should have never been spoken between us,” he told Harry, looking at him with a very serious and very honest expression. “I had only said it to see how you would react. Now that I know you are who I thought you were-”

Harry heard Neville gasp sharply and, before the man could finish his sentence, Harry was yanked painfully out of Marvolo’s grasp. Neville began running toward the exit as fast as he could, weaving he and Harry around tables and people in their way. Harry had no time to think. He just ran with him, trying his best to keep himself from tripping or running into anyone. When they reached the exit, they had to stop awkwardly to open the door. Neville literally threw it open.

“Run!” Neville shouted as he bolted out the door, no longer holding onto Harry.

It only took that one word to kick Harry’s overwhelmed and confused mind into survivor mode. Now it felt as if they were in honest danger. He concluded that Neville must know something that he didn’t. His feet were flying before he knew what was happening. He was attempting to follow his fellow classmate, but, as it turned out, he was faster than Neville. Within a few more moments, they were running side by side.

“What’s going,” Harry panted, “on?”

“In there!” Neville pointed to the currently closed and dark building that he recognized immediately to be Honeydukes. It was always odd to remember that this place -- which, at night, was the host for secret Pure-blood meetings and their high class after parties -- was actually a quaint, nice area during the day.

Harry knew immediately what Neville wanted to do. He wanted to use the passageway that lead from Honeydukes to Hogwarts. He was about to thwart that plan and tell Neville that they couldn’t use that passage in case they might accidentally reveal it to enemies, but a spell barely missed Neville’s side by a hair. They both looked over their shoulders to see two strange men in black robes chasing after them and Marvolo striding quickly and elegantly behind them.

“How do we,” Harry panted, looking straight ahead again, headed for Honeydukes now without a second thought, “get inside?”

“I don’t know,” Neville shouted.

“ _What?_ Then how do we-”

“I don’t know,” Neville shouted again. Another spell barely missed him and he decided to add, “Why is it only me?”

Now it was Harry’s turn to shout, “I don’t know! Are they Death Eaters?”

He looked over his shoulder again. There were no masks or identifying symbols on them. They simply wore black with their hoods up to cover their faces. While examining them, Harry had nearly tripped. Running in the snow was not easy.

“I don’t know,” Neville shouted yet again. “What did you,” he panted, “do?”

They were nearly at the door. Harry whipped out his wand and cast a quick, “Alohomora.” He figured it was worth a shot.

Surprisingly, that was all it took and they were inside the shop within seconds, frantically shutting the door behind them. They didn’t have time to think about how easy that was. Neville started to head toward the cellar where the passageway was, but Harry grabbed his robes and threw him against the door. He then leaned his back against it as well.

“We can’t,” he panted, “go that way. It will lead them to,” he panted, “Hogwarts.”

He quickly locked the doorknob, not at all confident that it would help them, but not willing to leave it unlocked like a fool.

“Why didn’t you say-”

They heard the door’s lock click and Harry fumbled around, quickly locking it again. The door handle rattled.

A moment or so passed and they assumed the worst: that the dangerous Wizards would simply blast through. Why wouldn't they?

But it was Marvolo’s voice that erased that worry. He shouted furiously, as if to stop someone from doing something they had already begun, “Find another way! You will _not_ harm him.”

Harry and Neville shared looks of fear and confusion momentarily as they both tried to think of a way out of this. Harry didn’t have his cloak.

“Disillusionment!” Neville whispered sharply, excitedly.

Harry grinned at him. “Brilliant.”

They both cast the spell over themselves just as all the windows within the shop shattered. Glass poured inside and littered the floor. Harry quickly completed their concealment by casting a silencing spell upon their feet. He gripped Neville’s arm and they both ran straight toward the cellar.

Just as they closed the cellar hatch, they saw the two men enter through the windows. They had come in on both sides of the shop, while Marvolo approached the door. They had been planning to surround them.

Once they were back inside Hogwarts and walking back up to the tower, bodies still invisible and footsteps silent, they spoke in whispers, careful not to wake the portraits. Harry held Neville by his arm so they wouldn’t step on each other or fall. Walking when you could hardly see your own feet was rather difficult.

“Why were you being chased by those men?” Harry asked.

“What do you mean? _You_ were being chased.” Neville argued.

“No, I had never seen them before.”

“The man _you were with_ was chasing us.”

“ _He_ wasn’t firing spells at us. The other two were.”

“But I had never seen them before either.”

“Wait…then…” He frowned as he tried to formulate words from his thoughts.

“ _And,_ ” Neville continued, “he was _ordering_ them to cast spells.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. Then…then…” He stuttered before trailing off again.

“Then maybe we should…” Neville, too, trailed off uncertainly.

“Stay here for a while,” Harry decided.

After a short while of silence, Harry had to ask, “What about your boyfriend?”

“I’ll contact him,” he replied quietly, heavily, as if carrying an unhappiness he couldn’t keep out of his voice.

Harry didn’t press.

“Anyway,” Neville continued, “how did he find out you were Harry Potter?”

“Shhhh!” Harry shushed him, looking around at the portraits. “The portraits.”

“Sorry,” Neville whispered even quieter than before.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked once he was confident that none of the people hanging on the walls were awake and attentive. “He _didn’t_ know.”

“Didn’t you hear what he said?”

“When?” Harry hissed. His heart was starting to race with panic.

“Remember? He said, ‘now that I know you are the one I thought you were’ or...something similar.”

Harry hadn’t even registered that until now. What was he going to do? A Death Eater, who was very close to Voldemort, knew that Harry Potter liked to slightly transfigure his face, glamour his hair, act and dress like a Pure-blood and attend Pure-blood after parties, all so he could recklessly leave the safety of Hogwarts to pursue men.

Perfect.

He wouldn’t be able to go to Hogsmeade again.

_At least not for the rest of the year,_ he told himself. _I wonder if Sirius ever did things like this._

x

Author's Note:

This is obviously written during Harry's fifth year (just like the beginning of the 1st chapter). It is during Umbridge's reign and before Sirius died. I wanted to add this in here to provide more information about Marvolo. If all it did was confuse you and raise more questions about Marvolo, then that's okay too. :)

As always, you can follow me on Tumblr for updates on this Fic as well. (amytheauthor.tumblr.com)

Thanks!

Amy

*CHAPTER WAS UPDATED April 23rd 2017 - I added quite a bit to their interaction.*


	4. Chapter 4 (Revised)

Tom sat in Transfiguration class, his least favorite professor, Professor Dumbledore's, class. This was where he was practically openly bullied because the old Wizard subtly encouraged it. Of course, only Tom and his tormentors were aware of it. The Professor was sneaky about it and no one understood the hidden meanings behind his words if they were not involved in the situation. Until today, it seemed.

Tom was livid today. _Beyond_ livid actually.

Charles Hornby.

He was always doing something to Tom. He was an upper classman, so he had no classes with young Tom, but that never stopped him from ordering others to do his bidding and disturb Tom during his lessons. After what had happened in the Slytherin common room that first night back at Hogwarts, Tom had been so sure the bullying would begin the morning of his second day at Hogwarts, yesterday. He had been on full alert yesterday, waiting for something happen, for someone to harass him. Nothing had happened at all. He had been shocked.

Today was a different story, however, and Tom knew why. After the anomaly that occurred during dinner because of the new student, Peverell, Tom had made sure to sleep in the library, far away from the violent backlash of his peers. Of course, that wasn't going to stop them from attacking him here, especially in this class, with Professor Dumbledore, who never saw fit to stop them.

Even if it was not Charles Hornby directly, Tom still blamed him and today…

_…he blamed him._

Tom's jaw clenched when another spell from behind him, to his left, came down upon the cup he was trying to transfigure from a newt. The spell immediately morphed it so the newt's head was sticking out of the front of the cup. He cast his own spell to correct it, but yet another spell came from behind him, to his right (it had nearly nicked his _shoulder_ ). That spell turned his cup from it's reddish yellow hue to a blackish blue and, although the newt's head did not pop out again, its tail did and began swinging around wildly.

Behind Tom and to his left sat Grigham Avery. Behind Tom and to his right sat Ramsey Mulciber. They were two very annoying Slytherin Pure-bloods that followed Charles Hornby around and used him as protection when they harmed anyone they deemed lower than them. Mulciber didn't care who it was, Pure-blood or not. He bullied anyone. Avery only targeted Muggle-borns, which was more common for Slytherins to do.

Tom usually sat in the far back of the room, in the upper left corner. It was to everyone's benefit because it allowed him solitude, and allowed all the other Slytherins to keep away from him, as they all would leave the entire back row empty and open, opting to squeeze together in the remaining lower rows, again, as if he were a disease. This morning, though, Avery and Mulciber had been sitting there beside each other. He had thought to sit beside them, but chose to sit in the row in front of them instead. He preferred his solitude over two idiots like them.

The rest of the Slytherins had been more than unhappy with the new seating arrangement when they came filing in. No one wanted to be anywhere near Tom, but he was no longer in the top row to ignore, so, while it was less crowded since many students were now able to sit at the top row, not bothered by Avery or Mulciber, one Slytherin in particular, the one that had to sit in the second to top row beside Tom, squishing herself as far to the right, into her friends, as possible, was very unhappy. Tom ignored her whining and bickering that she was going to "catch the Riddles," at first, but as of right now, he was on the verge of unleashing his pent up anger.

Both Avery and Mulciber were sabotaging his assignment openly and without a care in the world. The Slytherins that were able to see it clear as day, just snickered or made a snide comment here and there. Professor Dumbledore had spotted it more than once as he stood at the ground floor, facing the class, and lecturing about something Tom didn't have time to listen to as he attempted to remedy their obstruction before the old man came walking up to examine their final work. As Tom knew he would, Dumbledore ignored it and tried to keep his favorite students' attention on their cups or on him, ensuring that at least the daft Gryffindors wouldn't notice what was happening in the left back corner of the room where spells were flying at the "Mud-blood."

Tom hated the old Wizard. He hated Charles Hornby. He hated Avery and Mulciber. He hated the way they all chuckled quietly in his expense. But, most of all, he hated himself.

_I. Am. So. Weak._

Those four words always ran through his mind, day and night.

A spell from Mulciber heated his shoulder and ear where it passed and it was particularly strong. It knocked his cup over. If it could still be called a cup. It was now a deformed Newt again, squirming about, panicking and panting heavily. Tom watched it for a moment, too furious to do anything else.

There was a thin string inside him. It was a very thin string. Whenever that string snapped, chaos had always followed.

No, not chaos.

_Retribution._

He could feel it tightening. Avery and Mulciber were pulling on both sides of it. It was going to snap right…

"...better if those two Slytherins weren't so _obviously_ causing a ruckus by meddling with another student's work."

 _What?_ Tom's mind, which had been far away only seconds ago, came crashing back to reality and fumbled around as it tried to comprehend what he had just heard. His dark brown eyes widened in shock. _Who said that?_

His head whipped around to look toward the other side of the room, the Gryffindor side. Everyone was looking directly at the new student, Henry Peverell, who was frowning down at Dumbledore with a determined and disappointed expression. It seemed as if everyone had taken a moment to absorb his words, just like Tom had, and then all eyes were on the old Professor. Some student's expressions were confused, others questioning, and some were disappointed like Peverell's.

"I suppose these old eyes are not at their peek performance today," Dumbledore announced, keeping his focus on his precious Gryffindors. "If anyone," now he scanned the whole room slowly, addressing everyone, "is causing a ruckus, it would be detention with me as punishment. Keep your wands and hands to yourselves."

No one answered back. Tom watched Dumbledore's blue eyes pass over him, purposefully not focusing on him or the "two Slytherins" that Peverell had pointed out.

The string inside him no longer felt tight. The distraction had alleviated it.

A few moments later, Dumbledore resumed his lecturing. Tom tuned out his voice and looked toward the Gryffindors. Peverell was staring at him again. His expression was unreadable for the most part. He seemed angry. When their eyes met, they stayed that way for quite some time. Surprisingly, Peverell was the first to look away.

It was then that Tom realized what was in front of the loud-mouthed, nosey, annoying Gryffindor that, for some reason, paid too much attention to Tom. It was a horrifyingly ugly flamingo. It was transfigured, obviously, since it was not moving. It was brown and tall and…deformed.

_What the…?_

xxxxxx

Harry couldn't feel his right hand. Well, he could, but it was tingly and numb. His fingers and palm were hurting as they remained tightly clenched around his wand.

He was sitting in the second to last row on the right side of the room. On each side of him where shorter, third year Gryffindors that had been all too excited to sit by the older, transfer student. Harry had watched Tom sit at the second to last row on the other side of the room and had decided to sit directly across from him. He had hoped to remain on the inside of the row, near the stairs, but a few thirteen year old girls had gotten into a bit of an embarrassing fit over wanting to sit by him. Somehow he had alleviated the situation by scooting to the middle of the row, but he still had no idea why that had made them any happier.

Either way, he was happy to be able to see over their heads to watch Tom. He was also happy that, even though they had caused such a fuss and made him worry that they would be paying way too much attention to him during class, his fears had been for not because Dumbledore was good at keeping even fickle tweens attentive to his lecture.

He felt as if he'd been watching the Slytherins bully Tom since the lecturing began. A few spells had almost directly hit Tom and no one noticed! Well, none of the Gryffindors or the Slytherins in the front row. Despite wanting to stand up and duel the bullies, Harry hadn't said anything at all. He sat there, looking from Tom to Dumbledore, waiting for the Professor to notice what was happening and to put a stop to it.

The first time he had seen Dumbledore's eyes glance over toward Tom when a spell had _obviously_ been cast right there in the air for anyone to see if they looked up, and then quickly glance away, he had nearly had a heart attack. He had just been so _shocked._

Dumbledore was kind and fair. He wouldn't ignore something like this, no matter who it was that was being bullied, and no matter what house the students were in. He wouldn't!

But he did. Dumbledore ignored it.

The second time Harry had seen Dumbledore turn away made him realize that he hadn't imagined it the first time and all the "maybe he" excuses he had thought up to explain the first time were lies.

 _Maybe he thought it was just a rouge spell,_ he had thought first. _Maybe he didn't realize it had hit another student's cup. Maybe he thought they were trying to help Tom, so he ignored it._

They had all been hopeful, foolish, and desperate maybe's.

And they had all been untrue.

Harry had been so shocked and disappointed that he couldn't even muster up the will to move. His hand had clenched painfully around his wand and he had sat in his seat silently, staring at Dumbledore with a hurt expression as the students around him remained oblivious and focused on their work.

Once Dumbledore had undeniably disregarded Tom's dangerous situation a third time, Harry snapped. He finally looked down at the fat rat he was supposed to be transfiguring into a detailed book with ink and words written within the pages. He was being tested from third year classes and up, until he reached sixth year classes, to ensure he knew his spell work, since he had no previous paperwork regarding learning any kind of magic at any school in the world. Feeling betrayed and righteous, he flicked his wand and and turned that fat rat into the first thing he could think of that would draw everyone's attention and disrupt the classroom. A flamingo. A tall, brown, furry flamingo. It really did look like a flamingo, but it was still badly disfigured. The leg it was standing on was crooked in a few places. Apparently his anger had unleashed a smidgen during the Transfiguration. Oh well. It had everyone around him trying hard to stifle their giggles and had caused Dumbledore to stop his lecture.

"Perhaps, Mr. Peverell," he had said, sounding both amused and authoritative at the same time, "you would do better to pay attention in my class."

"Perhaps, Professor," Harry had immediately retaliated, more than angry and more than hurt as he glared down at his former Headmaster, "I would be able to focus better if those two Slytherins weren't so obviously causing a ruckus by meddling with another student's work."

Quite a few Gryffindors gasped and proceeded to look around to find out who he was talking about. Harry visibly shivered at the thought that, had he grown up during this time, with no knowledge of unfortunate Muggle-born Tom Riddle, he might have been just as blind to this situation as these kids were.

"I suppose these old eyes are not at their peek performance today," Dumbledore announced after a long minute of silence.

Harry knew that was a lie. Most of his peers probably bought it and he would have, too, if he hadn't seen the truth himself.

"If anyone," now he scanned the whole room slowly, addressing everyone, "is causing a ruckus, it would be detention with me as punishment. Keep your wands and hands to yourselves."

At least he had helped Tom in a small way. He glanced over at the boy, who was fixated on Dumbledore. It wasn't until the old professor continued the day's lesson, that he looked at Harry. They stayed that way for a long while. Harry could see Tom's calculating expression. He was frowning. But, honestly, Tom always seemed to be frowning.

Not wanting to see the bruises that were still healing on that young, pale face anymore, Harry looked forward at his flamingo. He spent the rest of the class with his eyes forward, very sure that no one would be casting wayward spells after Dumbledore's warning, working on making his flamingo into a book.

Just as the class was over, he had successfully done it, but the pages of the book were blank, so he knew his grade would be average. Maybe less than average, since he had first transformed the rat into a giant, deformed bird. He didn't mind. He had more important things to take care of here.

Everyone stood and filed out the door, rushing past one another to get to their next classes. Harry had memorized the faces of the two Slytherin bullies and watched them as they exited. He was behind them shortly, tailing them. He knew that they were aware of him. He followed them, knowing fully well that they would lead him somewhere isolated so no witnesses could point the two of them out of a crowd if something were to happen to Harry. Slytherins were smart.

After taking quite a few turns and finally ending up in an empty corridor, they rounded on him at once, their wands out and ready. The bigger one, whatever his name was, seemed way more confident. The smaller one's wand hand was shaking. He had obviously no experience dueling with an older year. Perhaps the other one didn't either, but at least he was good at bluffing and remaining calm. Harry knew who to target first should it come to that.

"The Gryffindor that ratted us out," the bigger one stated in an angry and accusing tone of voice, while the smaller one asked a bit fearfully, "Why are you following us?"

Harry drew his own wand, bringing it out slowly and wielding it skillfully, noticing them become all the more insecure as they watched him. "You will leave Tom" - he quickly realized that he needed to say Tom's last name as well because it would sound strange for the new student to be on a casual first name basis with someone he just met - "Riddle alone from now on."

Apparently they hadn't been expecting that response because their stances faltered and they looked at each other with confused expressions.

"Why?" the larger one challenged, eyeing Harry suspiciously and correcting his body to take a very cautious and defensive stance.

"It will be better for you if you listen," was Harry's vague answer. He had never been very good at threatening anyone. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to say. He could explain what he was able to do to them, but that really felt pointless. Where would the-

"Ha!" the larger boy laughed, interrupting Harry's rambling thoughts, before shouting, "Expelliarmus!"

Violence was easier than words. Harry was happy to be dodging and throwing spells rather than attempting to form coherent threats.

He jumped out of the way of the Expelliarmus.

Aiming at the small one, he said calmly, "Stupefy," but was more than prepared for the bigger one to shoot another spell, which was predictably another Expelliarmus. He dodged again and sent another Stupefy at the smaller one who had only just moved to avoid the first Stupefy. He was successfully sent flying backwards.

The bigger one was temporarily distracted, gaping at his friend lying on the ground. Harry knew that would happen as well. They were just inexperienced third years and part of him felt very guilty about dueling them at all, but another part of him couldn't stop seeing Tom's bruised face. Harry told himself it was justified as he sent another boring Stupefy at the younger year, who was still looking at his fallen friend.

Suddenly, he jumped out of the way. Harry, shocked at the unexpected trick, was now fully on guard.

"Immobulous!" the boy shouted.

Harry barely had enough time to recover from his surprise to quickly cast, "Protego!"

The younger year had looked confused by the spell and, after it successfully sent the Immobulous back to hit him, Harry realized he must not have known what the spell Protego did.

 _I bet he never imagined a spell that could protect and reflect at the same time_ , Harry thought, finding a bit of humor in the situation. _I never imagined fighting thirteen year old wizards in the 1930s, but here I am._ He shook his head at himself. _Don't be proud of it!_

He left promptly, hoping they would pass along this event to their leader, Charles Hornby, because Harry was targeting him next.

xxxxxx

I have been inactive for quite a while, but will be back to posting chapters regularly as well as updates on my Tumblr!

I will have Chapter 5 up very soon.

Amy


	5. Chapter 5

**This chapter is set before Harry is sent to the past.**

—

Tom sat at a table for four inside a bar. It was older, but elegant inside. He had never been here before. While he did frequent the secret gatherings, attended by only Purebloods and Half-bloods of high standing, he was not the type to attend the after parties that followed.

He was here at the request of Lucius and Rodolphus. During the Pureblood meeting only an hour before, the heir to a very old, very wealthy, Russian bloodline had made it public that he supported the views of the Dark Lord. After speaking with him for a short amount of time, Rodolphus had been convinced the man would be a valuable asset. Lucius had agreed. Therefore, when they had been asked to accompany the Russian heir to the Pureblood after party, they had accepted without Tom's consent.

Tom now sat in a chair at the end of a table, bored and irate. The Russian heir had decided it was safe enough to drink far too much during their discussion and was hardly paying attention anymore.

Tom looked at the two of his Death Eaters that had set up this meeting. Lestrange, who sat on his right, and Malfoy, who sat on his left. He could see that they were not only displeased with the rude foreigner, but also pale with barely hidden fear. No one ever got drunk when in the presence of Lord Voldemort, so naturally, they were appalled. Their fear stemmed from knowing they were responsible for wasting their Master's time.

It didn’t matter that he was in disguise and posing as just another Death Eater; Tom was not going to be forgiving. This man was a walking corpse.

However, right now, Tom was not in the mood to deal with any of this. He looked around the room. It was bustling with people who were either laughing or scheming. None of it interested him, but, noting how nice it felt to be out of his office, he admitted to himself that he did, indeed, need something different from his boring daily routine.

This party, filled with annoying drunkards, and wasn't that something, made him decide that he would be taking a step back from his plots and war plans for a short time. Perhaps he would go—

All thoughts ceased.

His mind shut down as his eyes focused on a figure that had just strode inside from the back door.

_Could it be?_

Tom's entire world shifted.

His usual cold demeanor was gone in the split moment of pure shock that overtook him. His jaw dropped and his eyes grew wide. He stood from his seat as fast as he could, ignoring the loud scrape of his chair and the questions Lucius and Rodolphus sent his way.

It was foolish (and he hadn't even realized he'd done it until he analyzed every second of the memory of this night), but he had actually tried to lengthen his spine by standing straighter. He even stood up on his toes. It was all subconscious as he tried to force _him_ to look in his direction.

Tom had been so desperate for that familiar boy to turn around, he had completely forgotten himself as he rushed forward, pushing anyone out of his way. People were staring at him. He was making an embarrassing spectacle.

He didn't notice.

When he grabbed the boy's elbow, suddenly the desperation wore off. It was replaced by an overwhelming fear that he had been hallucinating. That this boy would turn around and it wouldn't be _him_ , but a stranger with a similar face.

It wouldn't be the first time.

Almost every two years, like clockwork, Tom would see someone who just _had_ to be _him._ It never was. Tom continuously had his heart broken over and over by this boy for nearly fifty-three years.

And yet he never felt any resentment toward _him._ _He_ was far too important, too precious, too…

The boy turned around.

It was _him!_

It was Henry!

He looked exactly the same. Nothing had changed about him at all. His silky hair still fell into his beautiful green eyes that always had a magical glow to them. His soft, pale face and small chin. His small frame and lack of height. It was exactly the same.

This really was Henry Peverell!

Tom couldn't breathe. He had no idea how he had controlled himself enough to remember to check Henry's age. If Henry had traveled to the past already, Tom would not need to explain anything. He could simply tell him who he was, embrace him, and whisk him away.

“How old are you?” he demanded.

Henry looked frightened for a moment, but he quickly concealed his emotions like he always did. Exactly how Tom remembered him.

It took Henry quite a long while to answer, enough that anyone else would have found it strange, but Tom had accidentally lost himself in those enchanting eyes, remembering so many things from the past. Things he had missed dearly for a very, _very_ long time.

When Henry cleared his throat and answered with the question, “Who wants to know,” Tom was back in the present.

He was about to answer when he noticed Henry's gaze travel down his body _inappropriately_. Tom's immediate reaction was to puff up his chest and flex, which he began to do, until the terrible reality hit him like a ten ton brick. He didn't look like himself.

Henry was looking at his Polyjuice form, not at him!

If that didn't douse the flame of his desire, the fact that, when Henry looked back up, there was lust prominent upon his face, certainly did. Henry was attracted to another man. The man Tom had killed many years ago. The man he had taken more than enough DNA from to use for disguising himself whenever needed.

His jealousy must have shown through, because Henry no longer acted interested.

“Marvolo,” he answered Henry's question, keeping his sentences short and to the point, so Henry would be forced to tell him his age sooner rather than later.

“As far as I'm aware, that name is associated with Voldemort,” Henry said, tone defiant and eyes squinted in suspicion.

That was definitely unexpected and caught Tom off guard.

The people around them were whispering about their conversation now that it had begun to be about himself, the Dark Lord. He glared at the closest woman who was eavesdropping before focusing again on Henry. He had planned to demand that they go elsewhere to speak in private. Henry’s unfazed face stopped him. He quickly came to the conclusion that he did not fear Lord Voldemort.

"You speak the Dark Lord's name without fear," he said, unable to completely hide his amusement and the pride he felt for his little beloved. "How…fascinating."

And, damn it all, if Henry didn't ruin the moment by grabbing Tom’s wrist and forcing him to remove his hold on him.

Tom was frustrated. He just needed his age. Then they would be gone in a twist of side-along apparition. As wonderful as it was to be here, with his lover again after so long, he did not want to stay in a crowded place where he could hardly show just how badly he missed him.

"I see you aren't denying your association with Voldemort."

No matter how much he wanted to speak to Henry Peverell properly, he had to admit that this was amusing. He didn’t realize it, but he was grinning.

"Fascinating indeed," he said before asking, _again_ , in his impatience, "Your age?"

"Listen…” _Again_ , Henry evaded the extremely important question.

Tom couldn't help the anger that overtook his features. He wasn't upset with Henry. It was understandable for him to be cautious. He was upset with himself. He did not look like he did in his youth. This body was not good enough to win Henry's trust so easily. He wanted to kill someone.

"I am only passing through," Henry was saying. "I was looking for someone who is no longer here. Now, if you'll excuse me."

Henry bowed gracefully and left without even a backward glance. Tom couldn't believe it. He had finally found him and now he was already leaving. He silently followed, eyes locked on his prey. He would capture Henry tonight. There was no doubt in his mind.

After Henry had walked out the door, Tom had stopped in front of it, watching.

A man had tried to bypass him to leave, but Tom had quickly and skillfully cast a spell and the man fell to the ground with a thud. Luckily, the drunkards around them merely laughed, assuming he was simply too full of alcohol to remain conscious. Tom hadn’t even tried to hide what he’d done. Truthfully, he hadn’t cared either way. All he could think about was Henry…

…who was headed for the strip club.

Tom was back in pursuit.

Henry had stated that he was looking for someone. Perhaps he didn't know where they were and was roaming around as he searched. That was extremely dangerous. Henry was too small and beautiful to be taking such a risk! Whomever he was seeking must have been worth the danger to him.

Tom had to physically swallow the jealousy that was squeezing his insides hard enough to make him feel actual vomit rise to the back of his throat.

Henry entered the club. Tom waited in silence. It killed him to have to follow behind Henry like a common stalker. He wanted to be leading him from place to place. He wanted Henry on his arm. After that first night all those years ago, Henry on his arm had become commonplace.

It had been the year of 1941. He had been fourteen at the time, turning fifteen in December, only a few months away. He had taken an aging potion after much consideration for Henry's situation. Henry hadn’t been able walk well yet after the incident and Tom had wanted to do _something_. After all, he had felt it was his fault entirely. Being able to be tall and strong enough to help Henry with his physical therapy sessions had sounded like a good place to start.

Finally, Tom entered the club, although he did it out of reflexive muscle movements and instinct to leave the cold weather. He had not registered that he had gone inside at all. Not even after he had been staring at the back of Henry’s head, lost in so many memories. Nights they had shared, secrets that they allowed only each other to hear, desires they had expressed…

His expression must have said something akin to "I am madly in love with this person," when the waiter had looked at him. The man had been about to seat Henry alone until he had glanced at Tom. That was a surefire sign that Tom needed to straighten up.

"Table for two?"

Luckily Tom had done just that a millisecond before Henry turned to look up at him in surprise. "Yes..." he answered, stepping forward to indicate that he was definitely _with_ Henry,"...a table for two. Please lead the way."

He had always told Henry that he would someday be able to provide for him. Give him everything. Shower him with riches, power, dominance, and affection. Henry had always replied with support and trust. He had always believed in Tom, even when Tom had doubted himself.

He looked down at Henry -- attempting to charm him once again with the best smile this false face could offer -- and held out his elbow.

Suddenly, he realized that Henry might not take his arm. He might walk away again. He had no reason to accompany Tom. He didn't know or trust him. Tom had to think fast.

He decided to lie. He could tell by the way that Henry was squinting that his eyes had not yet adjusted to this lighting. Tom's hadn't either. He knew no one was paying them any mind, but Henry was still young and naive.

“There are quite a few eyes on us," he lied, voice calm and smooth. "I'm sure that you would prefer not to cause a spectacle.”

Those eyes were calculating for only a split second before Henry seemed to deem Tom worthy and took his elbow. Of course, it had only been to avoid unwanted attention, but Tom was beginning to undergo something close to a mild form of mania because of the suddenness of Henry's reappearance into his life.

Inside Tom's racing mind, he couldn't help but think that he still needed to reach his ultimate goal of becoming the most powerful Dark Lord of all time to prove his worth. In those bright, illuminating green eyes, Tom could see himself. He could see that he was still not up to par.

He led Henry into the Cabaret after the waiter, who was leading them to an average table. Tom was offended and outraged until he remembered, yet again, that he did not look like himself. He sternly spoke up.

“Take us to a private table," -- _fool,_ he wanted to add, but held back -- "and you will be provided a very,” -- seeing the opportunity to show off his wealth and ability to provide, he paused to look down at Henry as he said -- " _generous,"_ \-- before looking back up at the server as if he hadn't made any such move -- "tip."

The waiter, like most people, was more than eager to serve him now that he had shown he had money and was willing to toss it around. He immediately began to walk them toward the back of the room where the better seating arrangements were. As they walked, Tom continuously glanced down at Henry, who refused to look at him now. The adorably flustered expression he wore made Tom want to grin triumphantly. There was even a shade of red ghosting Henry's cheeks.

Tom watched as the boy quickly began to conceal his emotions. His eyes darted from table to table uneasily. He was noticing just how many people were able to see them. Henry had always been secretive. From what Tom remembered, he was able to hide what he was thinking and feeling very well. It wasn't until Tom had gotten to know him after the first few months that he had noticed all the subtle flaws in his mask, the tells he secretly had. It had made Tom feel special that he could see them when others couldn't.

When they reached their designated table, Tom had made sure to quickly pull out Henry's chair.

_'I love when you do that,_ ' Henry had said once. When Tom had asked what he meant, Henry had replied. _'When you are chivalrous.'_ At the time, Tom had rolled his eyes in embarrassment at Henry, the chivalrous Gryffindor. Of course, his embarrassment hadn't stopped him from ensuring that he be as chivalrous as possible just in hopes that he could see Henry make that face again. That special smile. The way he tilted his head. The way eyes eyes squinted just slightly in tune with that particular smile. That had been the first time Tom had felt his chest constrict with fondness for Henry.

Of course, this situation was different. Henry had not outwardly reacted to Tom's kindness. He had simply sat down gracefully and politely listened to the waiter drone on about something or other. Tom was hardly listening. He knew what he would be ordering already. It was Henry's absolute favorite drink.

He told his order to the waiter and didn't notice him leave. He was solely focused on Henry’s face. To anyone else, the boy would have looked calm, comfortable even. To Tom, Henry looked quite _un_ comfortable.

He decided to try to make Henry feel as safe as possible, so he would _finally_ reveal his age and Tom could _finally_ take him away from prying eyes.

“Had I known I would be taking you out this evening," he said in a deep, quiet tone, knowing (and yet still hoping insecurely) that he sounded seductive, "I would have been sure to provide you with a much better arrangement than this establishment.”

He had to stress that he was more than capable of taking care of Henry. He _had_ to. He was not a helpless young boy anymore. He was the Dark Lord.

Despite Henry's best efforts to remain unfazed, Tom saw the way his eyes lingered a little too long on certain areas of his face. He was unbelievably jealous of the dead man he donned yet again, but was also too far gone to be angry about it anymore. All this proved was that Tom was still able to woo the only person he ever felt he needed to.

“Had I known I would be accompanying a strange man for drinks tonight, _Marvolo,_ ” -- that icy tone was enough to make Tom’s heart race with excitement -- “I would have provided you with a much better arrangement by remaining at the... By remaining indoors this evening."

Tom pretended that he hadn't noticed Henry's slip. He had probably been about to indicate his location. Not wanting to scare him away, Tom said nothing about it. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway. Henry would be with Tom from now onward.

“I was looking for someone. You interrupted me.”

Henry was babbling nervously. Tom couldn’t stop his smile from turning predatory at the adorable display. He noticed the way Henry was unable to keep eye contact. He vaguely remembered enjoying that when they were younger -- or, when Tom had been younger -- whenever he was being particularly dominant, but perhaps Henry had always had this habit and he had never taken notice to it.

Or maybe he was simply frightening the poor boy.

Probably.

Either way, it was testing his will to remain seated. He was conscious enough of the fact that he could not move any closer, or he would lose control, his body feeling like it weighed ten tons.

Wanting to distract himself as well as pry more information from Henry about exactly who it was that Tom needed to murder, he purred gently, “Perhaps I could offer assistance. Who is it you are searching for?”

“I’d rather not say,” Henry replied in a gentle tone.

It had only been a short moment of silence before Henry was suddenly turning his attention back to him with a deep frown. "This is supposed to be a private table?" he asked, tone sharp with disbelief.

Yes, Henry was still young and naive. Tom had always loved to teach Henry whenever he’d had the chance in the past. This felt familiar. He opened his mouth, but, before he could answer, he noticed the waiter was approaching with their drinks.

He was very eager to see Henry's face when he recognized it. The boy hadn't reacted at all when Tom had ordered it, but he had figured Henry had been trying his best to remain as calm and passive as possible. Once it was in front of him, Tom was certain he wouldn't be able to stop himself from smiling at least a little. That was all Tom had wanted when he’d thought to order it.

To see that smile again.

"There are special enchantments attached to every private table --" he educated his cute, young, naive Henry, as he allowed the waiter to put their drinks down. He quickly gave the man a large tip, just as promised, and waved him away impatiently. "-- that silences conversations and keeps others from looking in their direction."

He studied Henry's face diligently.

"Not every establishment uses the same privacy spells. Some are better than others."

He didn't show his disappointment when all he could see through Henry's mask was mild interest in what he was saying. Henry hadn't even paid much attention to _his favorite drink_ that Tom had made sure to order for him.

"There is a beautiful restaurant in Peru where one never sees nor hears the other guests, even while arriving or exiting."

Henry _finally_ looked down at his drink. However, he didn't look too pleased to see it. In fact, he reached for it hesitantly. Tom was slightly insulted, although proud, that Henry was being cautious. He _should_ be cautious. He didn't know that he was safer here, with Tom, than anywhere else.

Tom was momentarily shocked when he saw the way Henry was about to pick up his glass. While doing it that way was was normal for most people, it had been _Henry_ that had taught Tom to pick up a wine glass from the top rather than the bottom.

"Hold it from the top of the glass," he decided to stop him, lifting his own in this manner to be of good example.

Embarrassment and insult broke through Henry's mask. "Is this a common, Pure-blood custom?" he asked.

"No," Tom replied, "but it allows your drink to remain cold for a longer period of time. Your palm heats the drink faster if you hold it from the bottom."

Henry seemed satisfied with this explanation and Tom was more than satisfied to be obeyed as he watched Henry follow suit with his demand. As Henry slowly brought the drink to his lips, Tom watched him, deeply enraptured. He couldn't tear his eyes away for a millisecond. Henry inhaled the scent of it and his eyes fluttered closed.

Oh, god...

There it was.

Henry’s smile.

His mask was completely gone. His defenses had fallen away. It was a genuine, beautiful smile.

Tom's chest constricted. It was painful enough to make him frown. He had no idea what kind of expression he was making, but he knew that he was not able to control it in the least. He wanted to take Henry home. He had been gone too long. Everything he had built, everything he had ever fought for, had been to prove himself worthy to his future partner. Sure, he had his own goals, but they all included Henry at his side.

Henry was here now.

He would never leave Tom again.

Tom's hungry eyes watched the liquid shimmer in the dim light as it quickly entered Henry's mouth. Henry opened his eyes, but they remained fixated on his drink. There was an adorable blue stain that lingered on his soft, small lips. Tom wanted to lick it off. He was lost in that fantasy until he realized that Henry had not once reacted this way while drinking Bluet in the past. Ever.

“This is your first one."

He hadn't even realized he had said it out loud, until Henry's glowing green eyes snapped up to meet his and complete shock overtook his features. He was suddenly very tense as he placed the the glass back onto the table.

“What is it?” he asked.

Tom was too elated that he had been the one to officially introduce his Henry to his favorite drink that Henry’s fearful tone hadn’t registered.

“Bluet,” he answered. Making sure to show off his ability to speak French, he added, voice filled with deep desire, “Votre favori.”

But not just desire.

The desire to please _Henry._

“It is your favorite?” Henry asked.

Henry had misunderstood, but that was alright. He had unwittingly told Tom that he had not yet traveled to the past. If this was his first time trying his favorite alcoholic beverage, then he had not yet met Tom’s younger self.

Tom was too preoccupied with his desperation to know _exactly_ how long it was going to be before Henry would travel to the past, that Henry’s new-found fear had gone completely unnoticed.

He leaned forward over the table and stared directly into Henry’s eyes to ensure he understood just how important this questions was.

“How old are you?” he demanded.

After quite a while, Henry still hadn’t answered. He had simply turned his attention away again. Tom felt as if he was going to explode.

He took a quick drink to distract himself, not even bothering to savor the taste of it. It was Henry’s favorite and Tom drank it whenever especially lonely, but it wasn’t _his_ favorite. He preferred whiskey. Straight. Sometimes Bourbon. Double. On the rocks. Other than that, Tom hardly drank.

Suddenly, he remembered the one word Henry had forbidden him to say. It was the only word that could garner a reaction from Henry when he seemed unmovable. Part of him truly did not want to say it. It was forbidden for a reason. The majority of him decided to say it anyway. It wasn’t the time travel Tom cared about. It was how long it was going to be until he could speak properly with Henry.

Reminisce with him.

Shower him with the proof of his achievements.

Provide him with lavish gifts.

Hold him in his arms.

That last thought was the final thing he needed to push him over the edge.

“Boy,” he said sternly, pausing in regret as he watched just how quickly Henry’s entire posture and attitude changed, “at least tell me your name.”

It backfired.

Henry was out of his seat, face twisted with rage. He turned and Tom jumped up. His heart was pounding in his ears with fear. Henry couldn’t leave him again.

Not again.

Not ever again.

He grabbed Henry’s elbow to stop him.

Tom could tell that his own expression was that of pain and guilt.

However, Henry did not see it because, as soon as he had turned (to probably shout at him), another man had grabbed Henry’s other arm.

Tom was immediately filled with possessive jealousy.

“Neville!” Henry shouted, sounding shocked, but, god forbid, happy to see this…

…boy.

He was a young boy as well, not a man.

Tom didn’t recognize his face in any way. He looked weak. Tom could easily kill him. It wouldn’t take long. He wouldn’t even have to put forth any effor-

His thoughts were cut off when the boy, Neville, began pulling Henry away.

_Absolutely not!_

"Release him," he demanded.

Tom pulled Henry toward himself and used his free hand to draw his wand. He pointed it directly at Neville. He had the spell on his lips until he realized…

…Henry would never forgive him.

Tom was quick to give in. He would not allow something like this to destroy their relationship.

“No one threatens my-”

Tom interrupted Henry’s burst of anger. He looked Henry in the eye, hoping his face showed exactly how sincere he was. “That word should have never been spoken between us.”

He meant it. He had messed this up in his impatience, but he honestly regretted having used such a terrible tactic on the one person he never wanted to hurt.

He knew his selfishness was not a good enough reason to have said that word. He remembered how strongly Henry had emphasized in the past that he hated to be called “boy.”

Tom decided to lie to help him save face.

“I had only said it to see how you would react. Now that I know you are who I thought you were-”

Before he could finish, Henry was yanked away from him. The other boy, Neville, was taking him away.

Tom couldn’t move.

The pain from watching Henry willingly run away from him was…

…too heavy.

All of those sleepless nights came rushing back to the forefront of Tom’s mind. He remembered the nightmares. He remembered waking from good dreams about Henry only to find his bed empty of that familiar body heat. He remembered his addiction to many different sleeping potions. He remembered how skinny he had become from the lack of the will to eat.

In the past, Tom had been completely helpless against something like time travel to be able to keep Henry by his side. The night Henry had been whisked away, back to the future, he had felt just like this. Alone. Lost. Pained.

Tom must have stopped breathing because he suddenly felt light headed. When the shocked face of Lucius Malfoy registered inside his mind, as well as the man’s steadying hand on his shoulder, he remembered where he was, as well as _who_ he was.

He was Lord Voldemort.

He, Tom Marvolo Riddle, was finally the Dark Lord he had boasted to Henry that he would one day become.

This wasn’t the past when he had been young and weak.

This was the future.

He had power here.

“Lucius, Rodolphus,” he addressed his Death Eaters, passing his hands in the air over their faces quickly to create anonymous white masks and lift their hoods over their heads, “go after them. Stun the taller one. The other is _mine_. Understood?”

Before they could waste more time with an answer, he shoved them toward the door. They got the picture, but were walking entirely too slowly.

“Run, you fools!” he shouted. “Capture them!”

They obeyed. Before he was out the door, Tom waved his wand in a hasty flourish behind himself, not bothering to look back. The entirety of the people within the Cabaret had successfully just forgotten the past two hours of their lives. They hadn’t been there that long, but Tom liked to be thorough.

The cold of the winter air bit at his face, but he hardly noticed. He was striding elegantly behind his soldiers as they carried out his orders.

Apparently, they had terrible aim. They had obviously decided to drink after he left.

_Why,_ he wondered, _am I surrounded by incompetent morons?_

Yes, they were very drunk. Tom was more than sure after yet another round of spells had been fired and had missed entirely. At least they were of sound enough mind not to aim at Henry, but Tom was worried nonetheless. As the two young boys neared Honeydukes, Tom came to the happy realization that they wouldn't have enough time to break through the extensive spells of the closed shop before they were surrounded.

Tom saw Henry wave his wand to cast a spell at the door and, moments later, to Tom's dismay, they were inside and closing the door behind them.

Damn it.

He quickened his pace. Not only were Lucius and Rodolphus too drunk to remember to be as cautious as possible to prevent harming Henry, they had no idea exactly who Henry was to their Master. After what had happened to his sacred diary that he had entrusted to Lucius to keep safe, Tom did not trust the man with anything he considered valuable anymore. Henry was far more valuable than any of his Horcruxes.

When he saw the wand movements that both his followers were currently beginning to make in the air, he startled them to an abrupt halt.

"Find another way,” he shouted. “You will _not_ harm him!"

Although he was more than eager to ensure Lucius and Rodolphus were punished accordingly, right now, Tom focused on capturing Henry and killing the spare.

Not in front of Henry of course.

Neville would die at a later date. It would be tragic and in no way tied to Tom. Henry would cry on his shoulder and he would then make sure no one ever came close enough to Henry again that he may call them a friend or…

…something more.

Henry belonged to Tom _alone._

He was nearly at the shop when Lucius and Rodolphus finally formulated a plan through their drunken haze and scrambled over to each side of the building, wands raised and ready. They normally would have looked to Tom for confirmation of this plan, but they didn't tonight, much to Tom's ire.

Before he was at the door, the windows shattered inward. He hated having to be so forward to capture his Henry. This was most likely causing him to feel more than a little frightened. It would all be resolved once Tom explained at least some of the situation to him. He couldn't reveal everything of course, but... Henry would know eventually. This would all be forgotten.

He reached for the doorknob and entered just a few seconds shy of Lucius and Rodolphus, who had climbed through newly-accessible windows. The boys were gone.

Henry was gone.

Tom felt his magic spike.

He had been so _sure_ that he would capture him that this felt fake.

Unreal.

“Make sure they aren’t here,” he demanded, and his Death Eaters began casting spells that would reveal anything hidden under magical influence within the room.

There was nothing to be revealed.

Henry was gone.

The anger and fear that overwhelmed him was burning under his skin. He did not realize how much it was showing on his face. He did not realize that he was hunched forward, breathing heavily. He did not realize that his eyes were wide and unseeing. He did not realize Lucius and Rodolphus had each taken three steps backward, away from him.

Lost in the madness of fear and agony that Henry would never return to him, he threw his head back...

...and screamed.

His magic blasted through the building with explosive force. It blew the walls down. It sent all items inside hurling through the air. His Death Eaters were sent flying backwards, the air knocked out of their bodies from the impact of the blow before they ever hit the cold, snow-covered ground.

As if his magic had destroyed its ability to keep up his fake appearance, the Polyjuice potion chose this moment to bubble under his skin and shift him back into his rightful, snake-like body. It barely had finished dissipating when his magic finally stopped its outburst.

Tom was panting heavily. Each breath felt heavy and painful. His feet and balance were stable despite the fact that he was trembling harshly. He remained unaware of the damage he had caused. It hadn't been enough to pull him from his dark, miserable thoughts of an immortal life without Henry. An immortal life with Henry in it for a short time, but only long enough for him to marry another, have children with that person, and die alongside that person.

The maddening fear was so strong inside his mind that he began to hallucinate that this scenario was actual reality. As he stared up at the starry sky, surrounded by broken pieces of the Honeydukes shop scattered in the snow, pained face illuminated by the nearly full moon, his red eyes watched his Henry stand at the alter.

A woman in white was walked down the aisle. She had long, red hair and a dazzling smile. They kissed in union and everyone stood to applaud.

Now they were expecting their third child while their first two boys clung to Henry, looking exactly like him, with different colored eyes. The first son's graduation from Hogwarts made Henry cheer the loudest in the crowd. The youngest child's (they’d had a girl) wedding mirrored her parents', which made her mother cry, so Henry had to sooth her lovingly.

Tom made a pained cry into the night when he saw Henry lying in bed next to his wife. They were old, wrinkled, and gray. His wife lie motionless before him. He had a look of acceptance on his face as he closed his eyes and followed her in death.

It was the final thing Tom witnessed, the final thing he ever wished to witness, before his vision was no more and the world was shrouded in darkness.

 

—

Author's note: As always, follow me on Tumblr if you'd like. (My tumblr link: https://amytheauthor.tumblr.com/)

Please comment, follow, favorite, etc!

Special shout out to my lovely editor littwink! Thank you so much! (Her Tumblr: https://littwink.tumblr.com/)


	6. Chapter 6

Harry entered his next class quickly, only a few minutes away from arriving late. As soon as he entered, he was hit with it again: the feeling of anachronism. It was as if there was a line, a division, and he was on both sides. On one side, there was the future and on the other there was the past. When he had first laid eyes upon Dumbledore in this time period, he had felt it like a tidal wave, and the feeling appeared once more due to the sight of a much younger Horace Slughorn. Harry didn’t belong here.

While he knew he was here for a purpose, he was having trouble adjusting. This was still new to him. In fact, this morning he had awoken and looked around his dorm in confusion, wondering why he was sleeping on a bed across the room, rather than his own, until he remembered that it _was_ his bed in the year _1940_.

It would seem that even a pensieve could not truly prepare one for living in the past.

While Slughorn explained the functions of some potions ingredients and asked the class questions, Harry was lost in thought. He was trying to ignore his guilt for what he had done to those third years only twenty minutes ago. Did he go too far? Perhaps he should have used gag spells instead. Something to humiliate them, rather than actually harm them.

Of course, the moment he recalled how close they had come to hitting Tom while casting spells to sabotage his project, the guilt died. Surely, whatever spells they had been openly casting to stop magic from working properly on an object had to have been dangerous if it were to make contact with a human being.

That type of abuse was unforgivable.

His anger was beginning to return, so he decided to think about something else. He looked up in an attempt to actually pay attention to Professor Slughorn, to find that he was in the middle of explaining their assignment. Perfect timing. All they had to do was write a review about the ingredients he had just spoken about. Easy third year stuff. He began the essay immediately.

However, halfway through his writing, his mind was snatched away by an awful thought.

Originally, he had planned to watch over Tom and occasionally help him, to slowly approach him for light conversation, and so on and so forth. However, when he had witnessed the severity of Tom's bullies today, he had acted recklessly by lashing out. While he did plan to get Charles Hornby as well (in his mind, to take out the leader is to squash the flame of the followers), he didn't have a plan formed that could be put into action immediately. If Hornby were to find out what he'd done to the other third years who bullied Tom before Harry had a chance to get to him, which was very likely...

...Tom could get hurt.

Harry's heart pounded in his ribcage.

Why didn't he ever think before he acted?

Yes, he did have a plan of action in mind while dueling those third years, but it would take days to enact it. They weren't going to remain unconscious that long. Charles would know what he’d done within the next few hours.

Harry hadn't made it subtle. Tom was his weakness. All Hornby would have to do was attack Tom when he was alone—Harry wouldn't be able to do a thing before it was too late!

_Calm down. Calm down. Calm down._ He told himself this repeatedly inside his mind while taking deep breaths. After a few minutes, his mind cleared and his breathing became even. He knew what he had to do.

Finishing his assignment in a rush, he walked it to Slughorn. The moment it was on the man’s desk, he turned and strode toward the exit in a hurry.

“Where are you going, Mr. Peverell?” Slughorn asked incredulously, obviously ready to protest.

Harry was practically out the door when he replied loud enough for him to hear, “The Headmaster’s office.”

“Oh,” Slughorn said quietly, knowing Henry Peverell was long gone and unable to hear him now. “Very well then.”

Harry climbed the stairs to the Gryffindor tower and ignored the common room to head straight to the dorms. Once there, he opened the chest at the end of his bed with a flourish of his wand and took out a black box.

Inside it was his gift for Tom. Originally, he wouldn’t have given it to him nearly this soon, but, since he had rushed his plans, he was left with no other choice. He spent the rest of the twenty minutes before lunch casting the list of spells he'd been given by the person who had sent him to the past.

 

—

 

Harry didn't even attempt to act nonchalant as he glided toward the Slytherin table the moment he stepped into the Great Hall. Those who weren't immersed in thought or conversation stared at him in nosey curiosity. He ignored them.

Tom was glaring down at his food as if it were the cause of his ire and, therefore, had no idea who it was that had sat down across from him when he looked up. Harry couldn't help but smile at his shocked face. It was even more amusing when Tom leaned to the right to peer over Harry's shoulder at the Gryffindor table behind him.

Apparently he had noticed Harry's absence and, in his moment of surprise, had innocently double checked to make sure Harry was truly sitting before him.

Harry accidentally let out a small laugh, but swallowed the rest of it when Tom glared at him and blushed.

"I have something for you," Harry changed the subject, not surprised that Tom didn't say anything in response.

It didn't matter. He was already reaching into his pocket anyway. He had practiced this last night a few times, using the mirror in the bathroom to make sure the angle was correct. He pulled out the bracelet, along with a larger piece of parchment that hid the jewelry underneath. There was no way Tom would accept a flashy object, but a piece of parchment? Hopefully.

Tom stared at it for a moment, unable to see the jewelry under the paper, but still cautious. When he finally reached forward — as Harry knew he would because a piece of parchment never seemed dangerous for long — he took the end of it in his thumb and index finger and gently pulled it toward himself.

Harry acted fast. His other hand was suddenly grabbing Tom's forearm as he dropped the parchment onto the tabletop and slipped the bracelet onto Tom's wrist. It had happened to quickly that Tom hadn't even tried to pull his arm away until Harry was releasing him.

He stared down at the bracelet in fear for a few long moments until his features started to soften. He looked captivated by its beauty. That was a good sign and Harry was happy he liked it.

However, the moment, he tried to slip if off his wrist and it wouldn't obey, he became furious and aimed his frustrations directly at Harry.

"What is this?" he nearly shouted.

"Don't take it off," he warned him instead. "If you try to remove it by any method, magical or not, you could injure your hand."

With that, he stood and strode toward the exit. This wasn’t the best way to handle things, but Tom was not the type to accept something valuable for no reason. Nor was he someone willing to take something in return for a favor. Harry knew him. There was no way Tom liked to owe people. The only way to complete this Pure-blood ceremony the traditional way was to force Tom’s hand.

Or wrist.

 

—

 

Tom had stood to follow Henry and demand an explanation, but he remembered that he was not allowed to leave the table before the other Slytherins. He really, _really_ hated Charles Hornby for coming up with that rule. If he were to break it, everyone in his House would bully him all throughout the day. _Everyone._

That was far worse than a seemingly harmless bracelet.

But _was_ it harmless?

He sat back down and tried to force it off once again. It moved up his wrist as if it would comply, but stopped at the first knuckle of his thumb and would go no further. After a few more tries, he stopped. It was useless.

Warnings be damned. He was not going to keep something potentially dangerous on his body. If he hurt his hand a little to use magic, he'd just go to the infirmary.

Taking out his wand with his left hand, he pointed it at the cursed bracelet on his right wrist.

"Stop," he heard a female voice shout loud enough for him to pause and look over.

All the Slytherin girls that were squished together quite a few feet away from him were staring at him as if he'd gone mad. Their eyes were wide with disbelief and they were frowning in a disapproving way.

"Don't you know what that is?" one of them asked.

Before he could answer, another girl immediately joined in.

"Of course you don't!" this girl said, looking down her nose at him. "You're one of _those_."

The obvious reference to the fact that he was a Muggleborn only made Tom even more angry. "What are you talking about?" he snapped.

But, despite his anger, he still lowered his wand in hesitation.

"That gift is a tradition," the first girl that had spoken up informed him.

"There is no use explaining such complex Pure-blood societal things to someone like _him_ ," the second girl said. She then turned her attention back to her food and most of the others did the same.

When the first girl closed her mouth and simply gave him a sympathetic look, he jerked his attention away. He hated that look. He hated people who were willing to be sympathetic, but never act. It was disgusting.

He put his wand away and began to spin the beautiful bracelet around his wrist. It was a snake made of shining silver. Its mouth was biting the end of its tail, which was the symbol of an infinite circle. Judging by the fact that Peverell was a rich Pure-blood, Tom could assume that the snake’s red eyes were genuine rubies. It was exquisite even if those were the only two gems and the body of the snake had no other designs. It was simple, but no less stunning.

Perhaps if it hadn't been forced onto his wrist, he would have wanted to keep it. Perhaps not. He wouldn’t have been able to purchase it. Nor would he have accepted something so valuable from Peverell if he had offered it.

Tom Riddle did not owe anyone anything.

Everything he had, he had won by right. He still kept the stupid trinkets he'd taken from the pathetic Muggle children. Even if they were useless and shabby, they had meant something to someone at some point and now they belonged to him. Of course, they were too plain to bring to a place like Hogwarts. He left them in his room at the Orphanage. Anything else he had acquired over the years, he kept locked away in his trunk. He'd learned locking spells before any other spells when he had first arrived at the castle because the older students had immediately begun rummaging through his old, worn trunk, stealing or ripping up whatever they wanted.

As he lost himself in the hypnotically beautiful ruby eyes of the snake, he imagined what it would be like to have nice things. Anything nice. Like a new robe that was clean cut and tailored. A new trunk that latched properly without needing the aid of magic. A new suitcase that was not fraying and obnoxious in color because it had been the last one available in the second-hand shop. New shoes that shined and didn't have an embarrassing squeak that he hid with a silencing charm. New socks that didn't have holes or stains.

One day he would.

As his finger delicately traced over the smooth, cold silver, he decided, _yes_ , he was going to keep this bracelet. No matter what happened—whether it turned out to be laced with poison or not—he would keep it. It belonged to him now. It represented a level of status that he would someday reach.

Of course, that wasn’t the _only_ reason he wanted to keep it.

Comforted by the fact that his thoughts remained private from the rest of the world, he allowed himself to get lost inside his mind, wondering and hoping about one person.

Henry Peverell.

By the end of lunch, Tom was itching to find out if Henry would take back the bracelet if put under enough pressure to do so. He was also curious about his own reaction. If Henry _did_ take it back, would he give it up?

 

—

 

The class Harry had taken directly after lunch was the “Study of Ancient Runes.” As he left the classroom, his mind was still on the lesson he had just learned. For the second time since his arrival in this time period, he was relieved that he didn’t have Ron, Draco, or Snape to distract him from his schoolwork. He had never realized how much he had missed because of them. It turned out that these classes was honestly useful. He should have been using them in his daily life way before now. How had he not realized he would have been able to carve protection runes on the floor of his bedroom at the Dursleys without being expelled for using magic? Not to mention there were runes to hide things in plain sight and so much more.

Maybe he'd enjoy the downtime in between his interactions with Tom Riddle by reading.

Had he honestly just thought that?

Hermione would be grinning from ear to ear if she could hear his thoughts.

"Peverell."

Henry looked up from his Runes book — he hadn't realized he’d been holding it open in his hands, _reading it,_ while walking down the hallway — to see Charles Hornby falling into step beside him. His usual smirk was in place. Harry was already finished with this conversation. He closed the book and used wandless magic to have it float in the air behind him.

Hornby laughed a genuine laugh at Harry’s display. “Impressive,” he said.

“Is it?” Harry asked with casual sarcasm, giving Hornby a bored look.

He laughed again. “You are an enigma, Henry.” Harry accidentally showed his displeasure at the informality, which made Hornby scoff playfully. “Such a cold demeanor toward me is unnecessary.”

Harry was tempted to glare at him, but he didn’t. “How could that _possibly_ be true?”

“For one reason.” Suddenly his tone became much darker, more threatening. “I know what you did.”

Harry pretended to raise an eyebrow in a questioning expression. “What would that be?”

“The two defenseless students that were found unconscious a short while ago claim you witnessed the entire event.” He suddenly slid his arm around Harry’s, who couldn’t feel more disgusted. “In fact, they said _you_ were the one to put them in such a dangerous situation.”

His grin was malicious and wide, but it faltered with Henry’s lack of fear.

“If you’re the one speaking to me about this rather than any of the Professors, I assume you were the only one they told this information.”

He had been about to continue when Hornby’s hold on him tightened and a familiar expression overcame his face. Harry fought back a shiver of disgust. Charles Hornby wanted him.

_Wanted_ him.

And Harry could vomit.

“A Gryffindor who speaks like a Slytherin,” he said in a husky voice filled with desire. “Where have you been all my life?”

Harry smirked past his rising discomfort. “I have been, and will remain, _far_ from you.”

Hornby grinned again, but this time it was cheerful, which made Harry accidentally frown. “You won’t think that way forever. _Especially_ since I can hurt you-know-who.”

Harry stopped in his tracks, which caused Hornby to have to stop as well because of their linked arms. He was so shocked by Hornby’s unintentional title for Tom that he forgot to keep his composure.

“You know who?” He asked as he bent forward into a loud, heartfelt laugh. He just couldn't help it.

Hornby looked confused, which made sense. He was probably wondering how someone could laugh after their intended had just been threatened. However, his confusion was suddenly replaced by an eagerness that made Harry’s skin crawl and laugh die out pretty quickly. He breathed deeply and straightened up, feeling very apprehensive.

“I knew it!” Hornby was saying, as if the puzzle had finally been solved. “I knew you couldn't care for that Mudblood. You're playing an elaborate trick on him.” He laughed viciously.

Harry's mirth was completely gone. He glared daggers at Hornby who didn't seem to notice.

"I'll admit," Hornby continued, tightening his grip on Harry’s arm, "that I had the impression of courtship when I saw that bracelet, but, now that I think about it, there _is_ one other meaning for such an expensive gift, isn't there?"

"Allow me to fix this miscommunication," Harry said, shoving him away and unlinking their arms in the process. "No matter what it is I am doing with him, Tom Riddle is to be left alone."

Hornby looked more than shocked. Harry realized that he was probably angry due to embarrassment. Harry _had_ practically rejected him in a very humiliating, straightforward way.

Seeming to regain a bit of composure, he gritted his teeth as he asked haughtily, "You think sending a few lower years to the infirmary will frighten me?"

It had seemed as if he were going to say more, but Harry took a step forward into his personal space. "No," he answered quietly, "but this has only begun."

Hornby's face had shown his desire yet again, much to Harry's disgust. He stepped back and walked away, peering over his shoulder to give him one last warning.

"Leave Tom alone."

Charles Hornby didn't answer and waited until Harry rounded a corner before breaking into a grin.

 

—

 

Despite having two more classes with him throughout the day, Harry didn't interact with Tom until dinner. They had merely done their usual "staring from across the room" ordeal and left each other alone. Therefore, when he had noticed Tom watching him from the Slytherin table as he made his way to his seat at the Gryffindor table, that was all he had been expecting. Staring.

That was not what happened.

After gathering the different food onto his plate and sitting down to eat, he noticed all the students around him begin to quiet down. When he turned his head, planning to have to look around to find the anomaly, he was presented with Tom standing right beside him, his arms crossed and his dark eyes glaring.

Harry visibly jumped in surprise, causing the Gryffindors around him to laugh and Tom's facial features to relax.

Harry cleared his throat as if it would hide his blush and began to greet him with a small smile. "Tom," he said. "What-"

Tom interrupted him by holding out his right wrist. "Remove it," he demanded.

The female students around them gasped and some even began to whisper to each other. They were being way too obvious and Harry wanted to distract Tom from noticing their reaction, but it was too late. Tom was staring right at them with a deep, bothered frown. He snapped his attention back to Harry.

"What _is_ this?" he asked. "Everyone has been acting like that all day."

Harry was honestly surprised. "You haven't gone to the library to research it?"

Tom flushed crimson and Harry felt extremely guilty. Apparently he did not like his common sense to be openly insulted.

"I mean," Harry quickly tried to amend his mistake, "of course you haven't. I gave it to you this morning. You haven't had time. That's what you were planning to do after dinner if I didn't cooperate, right?"

Tom didn't say anything for a long moment, which made Harry worry he'd really messed up, until he finally grouched out, "Of course!"

That was a relief. He hadn't meant to be rude. His tongue had a mind of its own sometimes.

"And I won't have to if you just remove it," Tom suddenly added, thrusting his wrist in front of Harry's face.

"Hey! Peverell!" Someone yelled.

Harry turned his head to see a Gryffindor boy standing at the very far end of the table, waving his hand in the air to get his attention. Harry didn't recognize him at all. What could he possibly want that made him think he needed to shout at Harry to come over there rather than getting up to approach him instead? It must have been important. He stood and looked down at Tom.

"Excuse me for a moment," he said politely, quickly taking Tom's hand. He smiled down at the bracelet as he brushed his thumb across Tom’s knuckles. Then, as if he hadn't done something so affectionate, turned and walked away.

 

—

 

Tom was floored. What was wrong with this person? Who took someone's hand like that in public? That had been way out of line. Tom felt simultaneously harassed and...well...happy.

He was happy.

He could feel his face heat up as he watched Henry striding away, walking elegantly. He was so lost in his daze that he didn't notice the noise until it became extremely loud.

"Psst!"

He frowned and looked toward the students at the table, searching for the person trying to get his attention. Unfortunately, it seemed that to be everyone. All the Gryffindors that had been within earshot of his conversation with Henry were staring at him. He suddenly felt as if he should leave. He made a move to do so.

"What are you doing?" the boy who had been sitting next to Henry asked. "Sit down." When Tom didn't comply right away, he grabbed him and pulled him into Henry's seat.

Looking at the determined faces around him, he decided to keep quiet. He had no idea what they wanted or why they were insisting he sit with them.

"You do _not_ want to take that bracelet off," one of the Gryffindor girls told him.

"Can't you feel the magic radiating from it?" another girl asked. "It's enchanted to protect you."

Tom's eyebrows rose in surprise. Protect him? Why? From what? How could they be so sure? What was he missing?

"There are only two Pure-blood traditions that involve a gift like that," the boy next to him explained. "From what we've seen, Henry is a good person. There's no way he's planning to execute the second tradition. It wouldn't make sense." He suddenly scooted himself and his plate away from Tom and gestured for him to follow. "Scoot."

Tom did and felt someone sit down to his left. He looked over to see Henry was back. His bright green eyes were scanning the faces of the Gryffindors. He looked concerned and cautious at first, but something he saw in their faces must have reassured him, because he was back to smiling warmly down at Tom, giving him his full attention.

"Learn anything important?" he asked casually, as if that question wasn’t loaded with secret information that Tom had to figure out on his own.

Tom _had_ learned something though. The Gryffindors had been kind enough to let him sit next to Henry. That was all he could focus on at the moment, so he simply nodded. A plate appeared before him and he hadn't even thought about filling it up before Henry was picking it up and standing.

"Here," he said, glancing around the large selection of food at the table, "allow me. What would you like?"

Tom blushed and didn't answer. He was frozen in shock. He felt very out of place. Not only was he unused to eating with others near him, but he was also unsure about the chivalry being given to him so freely. They didn't even seem to want anything for it or think twice before doing so.

Henry had only glanced at him once and didn't ask him anything else as he filled the plate. His expression seemed to show a deep understanding that Tom couldn't doubt. It was too honest and real.

Henry actually understood what he was feeling.

He felt like the world was turning upside down.

He hadn’t thought he’d ever find someone who understood him if even a little bit.

 

—

 

"What would you like?" Harry asked and looked down at Tom, expecting an answer.

What he saw was a frightened, pale face. Tom was like a statue. Frozen and unwavering. His eyes showed just how anxious he was. Harry had to turn his face back toward the food to hide his emotions. He gathered whatever he felt went well together and placed it in front of the younger boy.

Tom was glaring at him now. It wasn't full of suspicion like usual. That was a good sign. It just seemed to be his automatic defense mechanism.

"I hope you like cooked carrots," he said, finally taking a bite of his own food that was still warm. He loved magic. "I probably eat them too often, but they're good."

He glanced at Tom who was hesitantly starting to eat, but he only seemed to be focused on the sliced, cooked carrots. That made Harry have to hide a grin with his hand and take another bite to let it ease off his face before he could look at Tom again.

How adorable. Harry had complimented it, so Tom had made the active decision eat only that particular dish.

He looked up to realize that the girl across from him was grinning along with him.

Oh god, was everyone watching them?

He glanced around quickly and most of them averted their eyes, but, yes, they were definitely staring. Avidly. He and Tom couldn't be _that_ interesting!

He looked at Tom, who was staring at his plate. No wonder he wasn't making eye contact. He had to feel so uncomfortable. Harry frowned. If only they could eat alone.

 

—

 

Once Tom finished the _awful_ carrots, he nibbled on a few of the other things Henry had put before him, but he really wasn't hungry. He was just uncomfortable.

"Careful now," _that_ voice called from the doors of the Great Hall. "You wouldn't want to catch ‘ _the riddles_.’"

Tom shivered in absolute humiliation. He looked over to see Charles Hornby and his gang laughing and hovering just inside the doorway, ready to leave. He reverted back to sitting with his hands in his lap and his face down. However, moments later, he was looking up and staring in shock at the many Gryffindors who had stood up from their seats to glare silently at them. Tom didn’t see Hornby’s reaction, but he assumed it must have been a surprise to him too.

When the Gryffindors sat back down, most of them gave him a look that he _had_ to be misinterpreting to say, “You’re one of us now.” There was no way. Overwhelmed and shaking with emotion, he stood up, brushing off Henry when he reached out to place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. He walked as fast as he could out of the room that suddenly seemed deafeningly quiet to him. He couldn’t hear or see anyone. He knew this feeling.

Anxiety.

He went where he always liked to go during these times.

The library.

It would be safe there.

He could immerse himself in assignments and research.

He never turned to look back.

If he had, he would have seen Henry standing alone in the massive doorway, watching him with his own anxious expression.

 

—

 

Something was wrong. Tom could feel it. His body was beginning to shut down. His vision was beginning to blur. He couldn’t see the book in front of him anymore. Frightened enough that a jolt of adrenaline surged through him, he got out of his chair and tried to stumble toward the library’s exit.

He needed to get the the infirmary, but he knew he wouldn’t make it. It was too far and he was losing consciousness already. He didn’t know when he had collapsed or where, but he heard familiar laughter before his mind slipped into the darkness.

When he woke, it was to find that he was on his bed. His clothes were still on. His sheets were still made. And the drapes around his canopy…

...were closed.

He immediately began to panic. As he sat up and scrambled to the edge of the bed, he hoped that he had only dreamt of Charles being the cause of this. If that had been real, then the closed drapes could only mean one thing.

His hands shook as he reached out in a desperate attempt to pull the drapes apart.

They didn’t budge.

He exhaled deeply and did not inhale again.

He was still with fright.

They had done this to him so many times during his first year that he had been forced to sleep in the library until he had found the spell to counter it. He patted himself in all the usual places that he would store his wand and the result was as he’d expected. They had taken it.

He was trapped.

The fear consumed him and he began to claw at the drapes, hoping to find any opening at all that he could rip into to be set free.

Any opening. Any tear. Any loose thread.

_Anything!_

"No, no, no," he was whispering over and over, taking short, quick breaths.

He moved all around the bed. From the right side, to the end of the bed, to the left side. There was no opening anywhere.

He was trapped.

"No, no, no, no, no..."

His pleas were getting louder now, but he knew he couldn't be heard. They always cast a silencing spell over his bed when they did this. They were thorough. So thorough that the drapes were not only stuck together, but also to the bottom of his bed, making it impossible for him to go underneath them. So thorough that a spell Tom had yet to find in the library was also used to prevent him from climbing up and over the canopy. The moment he tried, he’d fall back to the bed.

He was trapped.

His breathing was ragged now. There was a wheeze with each inhale of breath, because his throat muscles were tense in response to his panic. He trembled, alone, in the middle of the bed, holding his knees to his chest as he stared up at the ceiling. Tears eventually began to pour down his cheeks and his sobs became uncontrollable, growing louder and more fearful as time went on. Soon he was wailing at the ceiling, feeling alone and desperate and in need of _someone._

_Anyone._

But no one had ever come for Tom Marvolo Riddle.

No one had ever helped him when he had needed it the most.

He was always alone…

...and he was not loved.

 

—

 

Harry knew something was wrong the moment he stepped into the Great Hall. Tom was not sitting at the Slytherin table. There were students sitting at the end, where there was usually a large gap to separate everyone from Tom. Harry frowned from the entryway.

After a few moments of consideration, he decided to go to the Gryffindor table. He didn’t want to cause any trouble for Tom if he were merely running late to breakfast. Besides, he was wearing the bracelet. It would have protected him from any harmful spells.

He sat and began filling his plate, casually ignoring the three girls across from him that were trying to capture his attention. Whatever it was they wanted to talk to him about, it most likely was not very important. He stood so he could reach over and borrow a fellow Gryffindor’s newspaper, but he had only asked so he would be able to stand and get a better look of the Slytherin table. He quickly scoured the students in green until he found the person he was looking for.

Charles Hornby.

He had been easy enough to find, since he had been watching Harry already with a very haughty, very _suspicious_ , smirk on his face. Harry was immediately anxious.

After several minutes passed and there was no sign of Tom, Harry stood — ignoring the protest from the girls who had been trying desperately to get him to _listen_ — and strode elegantly to the Slytherin table. By the way he hardly reacted, Hornby had been expecting him to do so. The rest of the Slytherins’ conversations quieted as they tried to hear what Harry was going to say.

"Ah, Mr. Peverell," the average-looking Charles Hornby greeted him in a mocking tone as he stood from his sitting position. “To what do we owe-”

"Shut it," Harry firmly interrupted. "Where is he?"

Another boy beside Charles, stood up defensively. "How rude," he chastised Harry with a glare and a scrunched up nose, indicating just how distasteful he found Harry.

Harry had no patience at all for the 1940’s demand for social proprieties. Not while Tom was missing.

Hornby cleared his throat. "I ask again. To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Charles saw movement directly in front of him and looked down. His goblet was bending out of shape. It shook and creaked as it distorted in different directions until it finally rolled itself into a metallic ball and dropped to the table. He heard people screeching and shouting and allowed his eyes to travel down the table. Every goblet had undergone the same thing and all the Slytherins — the ones who were not panicking over the liquid that had spilled on them during this short display of magical control — were staring at Henry with wide eyes.

"You know why I am here," was all Henry said in reply.

Charles could not help the admiration that shown through his anger. That type of magic — wandless, wordless magic — was extremely difficult to master. To do it on such a large scale with that much control was impressive. The person standing in front of him was, indeed, powerful. Charles couldn't wait to test his own abilities against him. He was the top of his class and much more refined and trained than this new student who had appeared off the streets.

What was even better was that Charles had the perfect blackmail over Henry Peverell.

"Little Tom Riddle," Charles laughed through a malicious grin. " _All of this,_ " Charles gestured with a hand to the expanse of the long table, "for that little Mudblood?"

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but a loud, familiar, authoritative voice interrupted him.

"Is there a problem here, gentlemen?”

Harry turned his head to peer up at the staff table. He then realized, as he glanced toward the other tables briefly, that all eyes were on him. And it was silent. His attention reverted back to Dumbledore and the rest of the staff. No wonder they had been able to hear Dumbledore’s interruption so well despite him being quite a long distance away.

“No, sir,” both Harry and Charles offered their denial at the same time.

They glanced at each other, glaring.

“Very well then,” Headmaster Dippet spoke up from his chair in the middle of the staff table. “Please return to your seat, Mr. Peverell. Everyone may now resume their breakfast.”

The Hall went back to being loud with chatter. Harry gave Charles one last glare and turned to head back to his seat. It was automatic, since he had been specifically told to return to it, but, after getting halfway there, he remembered that was the last place he wanted to be. He was about to change course and head to the dungeon to find Tom when a Gryffindor girl collided into him to capture his attention. At first, he thought to ignore her and leave, but what she said had his feet bolted to the ground and his absolute attention.

“Riddle! He’s trapped in the-” She stopped to take a step out of his personal space, gather her breath, and begin speaking much quieter. He listened adamantly. “Riddle is trapped,” she informed him quietly, speaking really quickly, “in the Slytherin dorm. He can’t get out. My friend. She’s a Slytherin. She doesn’t bully him, but she stays out of it. She said they used to do this to him all the time. She said it’s awful. She said he never comes out of there without that, you know, traumatized look on his face. Like he’s broken.”

Harry didn’t even thank her for the information. He flew out of the Great Hall and toward the Dungeon. His feet guided him all the way down. His mind was so preoccupied with Tom that he was standing before the Slytherin entrance in what felt like moments. He closed his eyes and concentrated. He pictured a snake speaking to him. When his eyes opened, so did his mouth and he told it to, “Open.” It worked. He had successfully spoken Parseltongue and now he was in.

 

—

 

Tom could not stop the memories of the times he had been punished at the orphanage. No matter how many times he tried to push those thoughts out of his mind, he couldn’t. When you were bad, the matron would throw you in a cell in the basement and lock you in. It was dark and cold and scary. Rats would scurry in the darkness, but it always sounded like a monster. A frightening beast that would stalk around your cell. Something you could see moving in the corner of your eye in the shadows, but would disappear when you quickly turned your head to catch it in the act.

His mind always ran a thousand miles per minute when down there. He swore he could hear whispers and footsteps. Growling and hissing. Inhuman noises that were all inside his fear-filled mind, but still there to frighten him all the same.

He clutched his bent legs tighter to his chest, moving his hands up to rest on his knees below his chin.

That was when he saw it.

The bracelet.

He had been told it would protect him. They must have been lying. Hornby had cast a spell on him to knock him out and put him here. He had cast a sticking charm, a silencing spell, and probably more around the general vicinity of his body. If the bracelet was meant to protect him, why hadn’t it worked?

Despite all these hurtful, negative thoughts, he still ran his fingers over it gently.

Even if he didn’t want to…

Even if the evidence indicated that Henry was not his friend…

…he still hoped.

 

—

 

Marching inside, Harry stopped only to look around for a moment, needing to remember exactly where to go to get to the dorms. There. The three sets of descending stairs off to the right of the common room. The one on the far left lead to the girls’ dorms. The one in the middle… Well, he didn’t know where that went. But the one on far right was the stairway to the boys’ dorms. He was rushing down them in moments.

Once on the lower level, he had the option of going straight down the hall to check the doors he could see there, or turning right, where there was second stone hallway. He turned right and opened every door in quick succession, not willing to waste time.

The dorms were truly beautiful. The large windows at the end of every room that showed the inside of the black lake were actually bright, while still tinted slightly green. They revealed aquatic life and the sway of underwater plants. The dark green drapes that silhouetted them were held away from the windows by large, pinned Slytherin crests. Huge snakes wrapped around the only two pillars that were on each side of the middle window of every room, but they looked serene. Protective, almost. There was a reading nook at the base of each window, where a daybed was comfortably situated for students to use. The walls were stone, but consisted of detailed and lavishly designed draperies of different landscapes. As a whole, everything appeared very comfortable. And needlessly elegant, considering each of them had a small fountain in the middle of the room, all sporting a different statue and design.

Harry was irritated with himself for staring in awe at the foreignness of the Slytherin dorms. Sure, they were nothing like he’d imagined, but finding Tom was far more important.

When he found no sign of Tom in any of these rooms, he walked back down the hallway and turned right to keep searching. Opening the door closest to him, he checked it quickly, like the others. He had almost closed it and walked toward the next door when he realized that all the beds were made and the drapes were pulled back like usual…

…except one.

The bed against the far right wall had its drapes down and closed. Not willing to take any chances, he walked inside and approached the bed. He reached up and pulled the drapes apart. They obeyed easily. Upon seeing what was on the bed, he froze in place, hands still gripping the fabric in his fingers.

Tom was sitting in the middle of the mattress, hugging his knees to his chest. His face was tear stained and eyes red from crying. The moment Harry had opened the drapes, Tom had gasped and snapped his head up to stare at him in shock.

After what felt like a long time — even though it was most likely only a few moments — Harry finally found his voice.

“I came to get you.”

His mind was numb and he was still too surprised to see Tom Riddle in such a state of distress that he didn’t quite know what to say. What was the right thing to say to someone who was this badly bullied? Harry himself had been bullied, but he had also had Ron and Hermione to help him through it. Tom really didn’t have anyone to support him, did he?

“Are you hungry?” he found himself asking. “Hornby is in the Great Hall, but we could go to the kitchens.”

Tom was still staring at him with wide eyes, but he nodded and began to slowly lower his legs. Harry noticed that Tom was clutching the bracelet on his wrist. His heart sank. As Tom began to slide off the bed to stand beside him, he couldn’t stop himself from apologizing.

“I’m sorry,” he said and Tom frowned up at him in confusion. “If I had known exactly what to protect you from, I would have given you more than a bracelet. All it can do is absorb spells that are meant to harm you.”

Tom looked angry now. He didn’t say anything and instead chose to use his sleeves to wipe the tears off his face in silence. Harry was very upset with himself as he watched Tom angrily scrub at his cheeks. He hadn’t been able to protect him at all. He’d made it worse.

“Come on,” he finally said. “Let’s go to the kitchens.”

Tom followed him, still scrubbing at his eyes and sniffing occasionally. Once outside and headed out of the Dungeon, Harry stopped, turning to Tom who watched him quietly, angrily.

“Here,” Harry said, taking out his wand and casting a fast glamour over Tom’s face so no one would be able to tell that he’d been crying. Tom hadn’t flinched away from his wand, but Harry hadn’t been sure if it had been because he’d done it too fast and Tom was too exhausted to react properly or if Tom was starting to trust him. Probably the former. “Now no one will ever know they affected you.”

When Tom simply walked forward without a word, Harry swallowed his rising guilt and put his wand away. They walked side by side out of the dungeon. Everyone was bustling out of the Great Hall and to their classes. Most of the students stared at them and openly whispered. They ignored it fluidly. Harry was surprised by just how much restraint Tom was showing. He guessed that after what had just been done to him, he could care less what others had to say. He was just angry.

Again the guilt constricted Harry’s heart.

He had to actively stop himself from apologizing again or promising to do better. He _would_ do better, but saying so was not going to help Tom right now. Harry focused on food. Tom was probably starving. Maybe he could convince the elves in the kitchens to make him something special. Was there anything specific that Tom enjoyed?

They reached the kitchens after a while, having somehow bypassed any professors and bullies. They walked inside and Harry was happy to see that many of the elves were still there, cleaning the area and washing dishes. They looked toward the doorway when it was opened and stopped for a moment until one of them popped in front of them and they could resume their work knowing the two students were being taken care of.

“What cans we be doing for students?” the elf asked.

“We would like two breakfast plates please,” Harry told him kindly with a smile. Everyone of them turned to look at him with wide eyes. He simply laughed dismissively. “We missed breakfast by accident,” he explained. “If you would be so kind as to help us, we would greatly appreciate it.”

“Yes, sirs,” the elf before them blurted out.

Harry knew that he had been originally planning to decline until Harry had asked nicely. The others were nodding and making awestruck noises, eyes glistening with unshed happy tears while they gazed adoringly at Harry.

“What cans we be making for students?”

“Ummm…” Harry looked down at Tom. “Anything special?”

Tom looked uncomfortable for a moment and, rather than answering Harry, he bent forward and cupped a hand around his mouth to whisper in the elf’s ear. Harry was immediately very curious.

“Oh, yes, right away!” the elf chimed before turning its attention back to Harry.

“I guess I’ll just have something with cinnamon. A muffin or a roll. It doesn’t matter really.”

All the elves jumped into gear, scrambling around and shouting positive affirmations. Apparently they all wanted to serve the student who had been kind to them.

After a few minutes, they had a makeshift table at the counter, both sitting on tall stools. Two glasses of water had appeared in front of them. Tom was already gulping his down. Harry pretended not to watch.

“Cinnamon buns for sir,” the same elf said, popping in out of nowhere onto the counter and placing Harry’s plate before him. Harry looked down at it happily until the elf announced Tom’s breakfast. “And treatsies for sir.”

He turned his head to find that Tom had asked for Treacle Tart. That was Harry’s favorite! It was warm and smelled amazing. There was whipped cream on top of it. Harry was instantly upset that he hadn’t thought to ask for that as well. Oh well. He’d just have to make sure he had some soon because he was going to crave it all day.

Harry picked up his fork and began eating while Tom waited for the elf to fill up his glass of water. He only drank half of it this time before digging into the Treacle Tart that Harry was trying very hard not to stare at…longingly.

After a few minutes of diligent eating, Tom finally cleared his throat, took another quick sip of water, cleared it again, and looked at Harry, who was already watching him curiously.

“If,” Tom tried to say, but his throat was very raspy. He cleared it again. “If the bracelet-” He cleared his throat harder, obviously irritated. It didn’t seem to be helping and he continued to clear it out of frustration.

Harry, who had been surprised to hear Tom’s raspy voice, suddenly realized why it was like that. While he had been crying alone in the dorm room, he must have been _really_ crying. The rare type of _real_ crying when you use your voice. Enough for him to have made it raw. No wonder he hadn’t said anything until now. By how red his face was and the angry way he was clearing his throat, Harry could assume he must have been embarrassed to reveal it.

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry told him sympathetically. “Doing that will only hurt your throat more.”

Tom gave Harry a very vulnerable look — probably without realizing it — as he relaxed and began to speak.

“If the bracelet is supposed to protect me,” he said slowly, quietly, looking down at his food to avoid Harry’s gaze, “why were they able to put me to sleep?”

“They put you to sleep?”

“I was in the-” he cleared his throat again, but it only helped a little “-library. I was reading and they must have cast a spell. I fell asleep before I could get away. I woke up trapped on my bed.”

Harry sighed deeply and gently took Tom’s arm. Tom watched him warily, but, as soon as Harry slid the bracelet off, he snatched Harry’s wrist faster than a striking viper. Harry stared at Tom’s furious expression with wide eyes. They were frozen like that for a few long moments before Tom realized what he’d done and let go of Harry’s wrist as if it had burned him. He tried to hide his own shock by looking away.

“Take it,” he snapped. “What do I care?”

Once the words sank in, Harry’s heart began beating rapidly. He couldn’t stop the happiness that began to show on his face or the hope that spread through his chest. He tried to hide his smile, but found himself unable to, so he simply bit his lips.

“I will give it back,” he assured him with a happy tone that he tried to subdue. “I just want to alter it. I want to add more protection spells.”

Tom didn’t say anything. Instead he took a large bite of his Treacle Tart and chewed it angrily.

“Do you… _like_ it?” Harry couldn’t help but ask. “The bracelet?”

Tom looked at him for a split second, enough for Harry to see the dark red embarrassment on his cheeks.

_Adorable,_ was Harry’s only thought at the sight.

He didn’t answer the question. He continued to eat and look down at his plate. Harry decided to take his silence as affirmation. After a short while, he changed the subject to something he hoped to get an answer for.

“Are you sure it was a spell? They didn’t use a potion?”

Tom finished chewing another bite. “No. I didn’t drink anything strange.”

“Did you eat anything strange at dinner? Before you came to confront me?” Harry asked and when Tom didn’t reply right away, that was answer enough for Harry. “What was it?”

“Treacle Tart,” he said, pushing his plate of the mostly eaten dessert away from him.

“How is that strange?”

Tom gave him a very unimpressed look, as if Harry should know already. “They cast a spell at the beginning of every year so none of the desserts are anywhere near my end of the table,” he grumbled miserably.

The sound of multiple appalled gasps spreading throughout the room made both of them pause their conversation to look over their shoulders at the many Elves who were watching them from the other side of the room. Some were sitting on the counters, some were standing, and all of them were staring at them with shocked faces.

“We be stopping that,” one of them announced with a determined nod of his head. All the other Elves began nodding as well, causing their ears to flop around.

Harry smiled while Tom frowned at them.

“Thank you,” Harry said in Tom’s stead. The Elves gasped at his gratitude. He was so used to it that he hardly noticed. After a moment of thought, he added, “Maybe you can also check the food at mealtimes too? For potions and other influential spells?”

“We be try, sirs.”

They were back to nodding enthusiastically.

“Why?” Tom suddenly asked and all eyes were on him. No one answered for a moment, unsure what exactly he was asking, so he elaborated. “Why are you willing to help me? What’s in it for you?”

He was looking at the Elves, but Harry had a feeling that he was also asking him. Indirectly.

“We be removed from castle if students be hurt by Elf food,” one explained slowly, looking to his brethren for support. “And,” he turned to look at Harry, “sir said please. Sir said thank you.”

Many of the Elves were making choked crying noises and their eyes began to water for a second time in regard to Harry’s kind display of gratitude. Tom frowned at Harry as if he were a puzzle to be figured out. Harry misunderstood the look to mean he was waiting for Harry to answer his question as well.

“I _want_ to help you, Tom,” was all he said, smiling warmly.

Tom was suddenly on his feet, furiously glaring at all of them. Harry stood and began to ask him what was wrong, when he shouted, “I don’t need you! I don’t need anyone.”

After everything he had gone through in these last hours alone, he had finally snapped.

He ran out of the kitchen. Harry followed him, apologizing to the Elves and thanking them for their kindness.

 

 

xxxxxx

Author’s note:

Answers to frequently asked questions are below.

What grade are they in? - Tom is in his 3rd year and Harry in his 6th. Harry showed up in the past with no educational background, so the Hogwarts staff decided to test his abilities to see what he already knew. They did not want him to begin in 6th year classes because they worried it would be too advanced, and they did not want him to begin in 1st year classes because they worried it wouldn’t be advanced enough. 3rd year was mutually decided upon. And convenient for me because Tom is a 3rd year. ;)

What year is it? - Harry travels back in time at the beginning of his 6th year to Tom Riddle’s time while he is 13 years old. It is the year 1940.

Why do you jump from the future to the past in every chapter? - It will all make sense soon. I want to show you how Harry came to know Tom before he was sent to the past and who it was that sent him.

**Someone asked me if this Fic will have mature sexual content.** \- Yes. It will. Not for a very long time, but, yes, it will. When we get to that chapter, I will post a warning so anyone uncomfortable with reading sexual content can skip that part of the chapter. There __may__  be multiple chapters containing sexual content. Currently unsure.

 

Follow, favorite, and review/comment please.

 

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	7. Chapter 7

**This chapter is set _before_ Harry is sent to the past. _Every other chapter is set before Harry travels to the past._**

**Chapters 1, 3, 5, 7, etc. are before he is sent to the past. Chapters 2, 4, 6, etc, are after he has been sent to the past to meet younger Tom.**

**Hope this helps.**

—

It felt as if Voldemort was practically towering over Severus despite the fact that he stood a few feet away. The Dark Lord's magic violently snapped in the air all throughout the room in response to his anger. It was out of control.

With his wand out and his spell already enacted, Voldemort finished its purpose by demanding in a dark, low voice, "You will bring Henry to me _immediately._ "

Severus had no idea what this mysterious spell was. It was of the Dark Lord’s design and he was not one to freely share such secrets. All he knew was that it prevented him from telling anyone about his mission and forced him to have to carry out his Lord’s demand within a certain time frame while it siphoned his magic and energy.

Because of the events that had transpired tonight, Severus was well aware that he needed to tread carefully through the conversation he was about to begin. It was necessary to his mission, but a wrong word could have him back on the floor, writhing in pain, just as he had been not an hour ago.

"I will, my Lord." He said this first to ensure he would not be tortured with a second Crucio tonight and followed up with a safe question. "Where shall he be delivered?"

"My personal chambers," came the quipped reply.

This question would be more dangerous, but Severus needed to know what was allowed and what would get him killed, so he asked it anyway.

"And should he struggle?"

The Dark Lord's voice was booming with rage and his magic reacted to his outburst by snapping next to Severus' arm and physically burning him through his robe, leaving a hole in the layers of cloth. "Henry is _not_ to be harmed!"

"Of course," he said, keeping his tone even and calm. He needed to reel himself back to safety by rewording the same question. "I misspoke, my Lord. Forgive me. I had simply meant to ask whether I am permitted to remove Henry's wand should the-"

Voldemort’s eyes flashed crimson. The sudden drop in temperature and abrupt halt of sparking, wild magic within the room had Severus stopping mid-sentence to backtrack and realize his mistake. He had insinuated a closeness with Henry Peverell by addressing him by his first name rather than his last. In the past, this had only been a minute pet peeve of his Lord's, but it would seem that he had no leniency left.

Severus thought to remain quiet, but realized that might only make things worse, so he quickly amended and finished his question.

"-whether I am permitted to remove _Mr. Peverell's_ wand…should the need arise."

Voldemort was still and made no move to speak. Trepidation crept its way up Severus’ spine. Perhaps he should not have asked and instead faced the consequences when the time had come. It might not have been as harsh after he had successfully brought Henry Peverell to the Dark Lord, but there was never a way of knowing for sure. Even when you thought you were off the hook or that he had forgotten, Voldemort would punish you and casually explain that he had done so due to something you had done weeks — or even _months_ — ago “that had not been rectified yet.” Therefore, Severus had attempted to play it safe by asking just how rough he was allowed to be in order to carry out his task.

“Henry always hated feeling helpless,” Voldemort finally said. “To ensure he feels _safe,_  you will do no such thing.”

Apparently he was not allowed to be rough at all. He would need to surprise Henry by capturing him unaware.

“Yes, my Lord.”

The snapping in the air slowly began to return, but it was far less wild.

“You are dismissed.”

Surprised that he had not been reprimanded, but far too exhausted to look a gift horse in the mouth, he bowed slightly, murmured a polite, “My Lord,” and turned to leave.

“I expect him here within the next three days,” the Dark Lord added just as Severus was almost out the door. “And, Severus…”

Severus stopped his retreat and looked over his shoulder to show that he was listening.

“Should Henry attack you, know that I will _never_ side in anyone's favor but _his_.”

Severus waited a moment to make sure he was finally allowed to leave before nodding once that he understood and exiting Voldemort’s study in a hurry.

 

—

 

Harry was following closely behind Neville as they descended the Gryffindor tower. He had no idea where his friend was headed, but, because of the way Neville had looked up at him in the common room after receiving a piece of parchment from “Prefect” Ron (yes, he was still bitter), Harry knew he had been asked to tag along.

When they began to travel into the Dungeons, Harry had a pretty good idea who had summoned Neville.

Before opening the door to enter the potions classroom, Neville turned to face Harry and put a palm up to indicate he wanted him to stay outside. Harry nodded, but stepped forward and fished around in his robe pockets for a moment. Neville was pleasantly surprised when he pulled out a pair of eavesdropping ears (newly reinvented without strings thanks to the Weasley twins) and handed one of them to him. He put it in his pocket with a quick, grateful smile that disappeared the moment his hand returned to the doorknob.

Once Neville was inside, Harry waited, staring at the fake ear impatiently.

"Mr. Longbottom," Snape drawled. "Sit down."

Harry noticed that the Professor's usual sneer was in place, but there was something off in his voice.

"I-I don't re-recall receiving detention, sir," Neville stuttered nervously a few moments later.

"You are not here to serve detention, Mr. Longbottom." He paused and there were footsteps that grew louder as Snape approached Neville. "Something...peculiar...happened last night in Hogsmead."

Harry's heart skipped a beat. Neville was probably frozen in fear, Harry assumed, because he didn't say a word.

" _You_...were there last night."

A few long moments passed with Neville remaining silent. Harry held his breath. How had _Snape_ found out?

"What can you tell me about Honeydukes?"

Neville didn't answer and Harry's mind was running a mile per minute, going over everything they had done and everyone they had seen. _How_ had _Snape_ found out?

"There were several witnesses stating _your_ first name. Because of their description of a young man about the age of a student, one would assume that it was _you_ they had seen last night."

Harry's mind stopped dead in its tracks. He remembered shouting Neville’s first name at some point. He couldn’t remember exactly when he had done it, but he did recall that there had definitely been people around to overhear.

_This is all my fault!_

"No, sir. S-sorry, sir," Neville mumbled. "I was...in the castle. In b-bed."

Harry had to applaud Neville for his bravery. After all, he was _terrified_ of Snape.

"Is that so?"

Neville made a surprised noise, like a quiet squeak, but Snape didn't say anything to follow up. In fact, neither of them did. Harry couldn't hear anything. After a minute or so, the alarms in his head began to go off. Something was very wrong.

He turned toward the door with every intention of opening it and bursting inside, consequences be damned-

"Tut, tut, tut, Mr. Potter," that shrill, irritating voice came from behind him and he froze in place while simultaneously shivering in disgust. "Whatever are you up to?"

Umbridge.

Harry was inside the potions classroom now, but not how he had planned it. The moment they burst inside, Snape had taken a surprised step away from Neville and Harry saw him tuck his wand away. If Umbridge noticed, she didn't comment about it.

Instead she said this as she pulled Harry by the wrist further into the room, "I found him snooping outside your classroom.” She stopped a few feet in front of the Professor and looked up at him expectantly. Snape was looking at Harry as if he had spontaneously sprouted a new limb. “Now _what_ , pray tell, could be so interesting in here that Mr. Potter simply _had_ to eavesdrop?”

Snape seemed to have to force himself back into a calm composure. His eyes had remained wide with shock and, strangely, incredulity as he had stared at Harry. It had been very odd, but his usual sour look was back now and Harry dismissed the weird moment.

It took him a half a beat too long to tear his eyes away from Harry to plant them upon the toad. "Nothing,” he replied to her inquiry in a casual tone, “I assure you."

_Because that was convincing,_ Harry thought.

"However," the man suddenly said, looking down his long nose at Harry now with a familiar expression, "eavesdropping does warrant a detention if I do say so myself. I expect you tomorrow evening, Potter. Do I make myself clear?"

Umbridge giggled gleefully and let go of his wrist in order to clap her pudgy hands together happily. “It is settled.” Her delight had already been filled with malice so the fact that her face morphed into something akin to disgust in less than a second when she began addressing Harry and Neville was not a surprise. “Run along now.”

Neville stood and they both turned to leave. Harry’s mind was so full of his own thoughts that it wasn’t until Neville grabbed his arm and gave him a helpless look that he realized he needed assistance. Harry allowed him to clutch his arm as they exited the room, leaving his questions unanswered until they were out of the Dungeons.

"What was _that?_ " Harry asked incredulously as they walked briskly down the hallway, back toward the safety of the Gryffindor tower. “How could he have found out? I know I shouted your name, but who would tell _Snape?”_

He looked over at Neville and immediately felt guilty for forgetting exactly how upset his friend was at the moment. The poor boy was extremely pale and trembling as he held on to Harry's arm for extra support. His eyes were wide and unseeing as he stared down at the floor. His back was hunched forward as if he were about to vomit.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked, his concern audible. “What did he do to you? You look…” He didn't voice the word. It was too mean.

It always took quite a bit of coercing to get Neville to open up, but Harry understood because he was the same way. Usually, he'd keep his emotions bottled up until he finally burst and acted out. Of course, that was not the healthy way to do things, but he had no idea how else to release his anger. Especially since no one would talk to him and every time he tried to bring things up, people would shut down and get quiet. Even his friends. Even Dumbledore, who was now missing.

He was just so frustrated.

While he had been lost in thought, they had already ascended the tower and were only a few feet away from entering the common room through the portrait. He stopped and looked at Neville.

"We will talk in our usual place," he told him, remembering to be cryptic for the portraits watching them.

Neville nodded. "Thank you," he said quietly.

The fact that his help didn't seem to offer any form of comfort to his friend did nothing for his nerves.

 

—

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	8. Chapter 8

“Tom, wait!” Harry called out, taking long strides to try to keep up with him.

Tom halted abruptly and whirled around. “Stop!” he shouted. “You are just a _hindrance._ I have _never_ needed anyone before. Stay away from me!”

Harry was at a loss. He had no idea what to say or do to make things right. So, when Tom turned and ran off, Harry stood as stiff as a board in the hallway as he watched Tom leave.

After who knows how long, Harry finally trudged off to his first class. He accepted the punishment of points docked for tardiness without a care and spaced out during the lesson. When their shared second class came along, Harry was happy to see that Tom had not skipped today, for all that he refused to acknowledge Harry in any way.

To keep himself distracted from his inner turmoil about being ignored, Harry watched Dumbledore avidly and kept a keen eye out for any bullying. Other than Tom finishing his project before everyone else and Dumbledore giving him a perfect score — albeit in a dismissive manner as if Tom was not impressive — nothing spectacular happened.

Harry spent his third class absorbed with his internal worries about Tom. If Harry wasn’t present, would they bully him? It was probably an irrational fear, as it would be impossible for Harry to stick to Tom every single moment of the day, but he couldn’t stop himself from feeling it.

Lunch came and went without Tom ever showing up to eat. Harry was  _ not _ pleased about that, but what could he do? He did not share Ancient Runes with Tom and was, again, worried. But it had been for naught as Tom had shown up for their final two classes together in one piece.

The Slytherins seemed to be leaving him alone.

Harry couldn’t tell if it bothered Tom, but it was definitely bothering himself. It was suspicious.

Harry had expected Tom to attend dinner because he had skipped lunch, but he did not. Feeling rejected and moody and anxious beyond belief, Harry waited until dinner was officially over before silently following Hornby and his gang down into the dungeons.

It was time to end the bullying once and for all.

—

Tom left his final class to retreat to the library. He had not been able to find his wand anywhere, despite searching for it in the dorms and common room during his free time. When he had arrived at his first class, he had forgotten that it had been stolen and had to (embarrassingly) inform the professor that it was missing. They had instructed him to go to the Defense classroom to collect a basic wand they had as a spare. Apparently it was not uncommon for first years to lose their wands, so spares were kept in abundance in that particular classroom where they were needed the most.

Tom had been humiliated all throughout the day to be using a spare. His anger had forced his spells to be cast in stronger waves, which helped him to finish his hands-on assignments quicker but drained him of what little energy he had. The library would be a welcome retreat away from everyone and everything. Inside, he planned to look for a spell that would help him locate his wand.

As per usual, he bypassed the main part of the library where many students were socializing, studying, and flirting. As he neared his quiet, secluded area, there was something on the ground, under the table that he always occupied, that caught his eye. He frowned at it, waiting to see what it was as he grew closer.

It was his wand!

He hadn’t realized just how stressed he had been due to its absence until that moment. The amount of relief that washed over him was unbelievable. He forgot everything. Releasing his bag of books and assignments onto the floor, he dropped to his hands and knees and crawled under the table. He snatched the white yew wand and clutched it to his chest like a lifeline.

It  _ was _ a lifeline to him.

He knew he could do magic without it, but it was not a piece of useless wood in his mind. It was a symbol. Proof. Physical evidence that he was different. Special. Magical.

Limitless.

He was so relieved that Hornby did not have it in his possession. Perhaps it had simply fallen out of his robes when he had panicked and scrambled toward the exit the moment he realized he was under attack last night?

After a short while of allowing himself to breathe and relax, he got out from under the table, picked up his things, and began to research the  _ one thing _ that he had been wanting to focus on all day.

The bracelet.

This area of the library was the one place that he could be as close to alone in Hogwarts as possible. It was tucked away from view and avoided like the plague. He had found it during his first year. Everyone kept away from it because it reeked of dust and aging parchment since it was the section for ancient books that contained everything one would ever need to know about Olde Magic. Most students did not take the time to read such complicated, elaborate, and boring things.

Except, of course, Tom Riddle.

And the two smartest Ravenclaws in the school that Tom had been irritated to be bothered by when they had come around to peruse the shelves last year. Luckily, they had yet to come by again.

Hours later, Tom dropped a giant, older-than-Merlin book onto the table and the sound permeated throughout the quiet library with a loud SMACK. This would be the fifth one he had found that provided information about the intricate, overly-elaborate Pure-blood traditions of the Wizarding World.

The books he had left on the table yesterday (about what he was  _ usually _ researching into the wee hours of the night) were teetering on the edge, forgotten and pushed away from him to make room for the now five books with different pages open before him.

He made a noise of frustration. If he did not find the tradition in this book, he was going to be extremely angry. The other four books had  _ all _ referenced this ancient tome. That meant that this was  _ the _ book for Pure-blood traditions — the bloody  _ original _ . It was huge, dusty, and yellowing inside. When he opened it, he was more than annoyed to find  _ tiny cursive print _ . The others had been in cursive as well, but not quite like this. Not only was it entirely too small, but the English was from the times of the Olde —  _ Merlin’s _ time!

Squinting to read and decipher the words, he trailed his finger through the needlessly long introduction that also served as an index. He had no idea of what the exact terms for what he was looking for were, but he had decided to always search “gifting traditions,” and “trading traditions” first. He found the closest word, which was “endow,” and flipped to that page. He, for the fifth time tonight, skipped over the “courting” and “marriage” rituals and traditions. There were  _ so many  _ and he hated the thought of them, let alone reading about them.

Several minutes of searching and flipping page after page, he stopped.

Why couldn’t he find the _ friendship _ gifting traditions?

This was so mentally exhausting. His head had been pounding for a while now. Slamming his fist against the book, he stood up. He had been about to begin his routine of frustrated pacing when he looked up to find something that had him frozen in place. There were two unwelcome surprise visitors — in chairs they must have dragged over from the front of the library — sitting across from him.

“You finally found it,” the girl on the left said.

He did recognize them, but he had no idea what their names were. They were like all the other Slytherin girls — cold toward him on good days and sneering at him on worse days. He was relatively sure that the one on the left was a seventh year while the other was a sixth year. Or so he thought. He had never taken much notice of them to know for sure.

Because Tom hadn’t answered her, instead choosing to examine them suspiciously, the oldest on the left continued, “I do not blame you for being angry with Peverell. It is, truly, a cruel thing to do. I am honestly surprised that he was sorted into Gryffindor, the house of chivalry and morale.”

Tom absorbed her words and tried to make sense of them. When he couldn’t, he asked, “What are you talking about?”

Her eyebrows rose in fake surprise. Other than that, her face was blank. Most Slytherins were able to wear a mask of indifference and Tom was always envious, as he had not quite perfected it yet. Although he continued to try to train himself, he knew his “blank” face was a frown.

“Every book on this table—” she paused to look down at the books  _ not _ pertaining to Pure-blood traditions with knowing eyes “—other than these, of course—” she looked back into his defensive gaze “—have the tradition you are searching for. I had assumed you had found it when you stood in a rage.”

Tom waited a moment to think about his response. Should he lie? He quickly skimmed over every different possibility that would explain these girls’ presence. After some consideration, he decided the truth might benefit him.

“I haven’t.”

The older one examined him with her cold, blue eyes for quite a long while, and he met her gaze unwaveringly. She broke eye contact to stand and reach for the second book he had gone through earlier. She slid it out from under the fifth book that was still spread out on the table and brought it to her chest to flip through it. When she found the page, she turned the book in her hands and gave it to him, pointing to a paragraph under the section titled, “Claiming Rituals and Traditions.”

When he began to read, she stood and so did her silent friend.

“Excuse us,” she said politely and they walked away, leaving the chairs they had brought with them, behind.

They disappeared behind a bookshelf on the way toward the exit and he resolutely looked down at the book to ignore the itch inside himself that was telling him they were up to something.

As his eyes scanned the words, he felt himself frown. His breathing stopped entirely. The anger that rose from his stomach and through his chest, also traveled up his neck and to his face, heating his skin to a tint of red. Before he even finished the final sentence, he snapped the book shut and smashed it against the tabletop. His whole body shook and his face only grew more red with rage.

How could  _ that _ be a traditional Pure-blood custom?

  
  


—

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	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chapter in which Snape is angry.

**This chapter is set** **_before_ ** **Harry is sent to the past.**

**Chapters 1, 3, 5, 7, etc, are before he is sent to the past. Chapters 2, 4, 6, etc, are after he has been sent to the past to meet younger Tom.**

**Hope this helps.**

 

—

 

Snape withdrew to his personal chambers now that Umbridge was finally gone. He had listened (and somehow replied) to whatever it was that she had wanted to discuss, but, for the life of him, he could not remember any of it. His mind was far too clouded by the discovery he had made just moments before Umbridge had so rudely interrupted by barging in with Harry Potter in her clutches.

Harry Potter. The very person obstructing Snape’s thought process.

_ How did this happen?  _ Snape was shouting internally as he strode toward his private quarters. _ That stupid boy! That stupid, reckless teenager! Does he have a death wish? The little fool is just like his no-good, low-life father! Always  _ looking  _ for trouble; _ asking  _ for it! _

Snape could hardly wrap his mind around it. He had seen it with his own eyes when he had grabbed Neville Longbottom by the chin and plunged into his mind for answers, just as his Lord had instructed. He had seen the memories of Hogsmeade flash inside Neville's mind. Neville involuntarily revealed how they used the secret passage in Honeydukes’s cellar to return safely back to Hogwarts. The memory had shown both Harry Potter as well as Neville transforming back into their true forms the moment they entered the Gryffindor common room and dropped the disillusionment spell placed upon themselves.

Snape had grabbed Neville's arm in his shock, which had caused even more fear to course through the boy, making the memory to shift to the first time he had ever punished Neville. Guilt had barely begun forming inside Snape's mind when the door had swung open and Umbridge had marched in with, of course, Harry Potter in her claws. Snape had immediately stepped back from Neville and tucked his wand away.

He had been too shocked at the reveal that Henry Peverell's true self was  _ Harry Potter, _ that all he had been able to do was assign Potter a detention.

For tomorrow.

Because, good god, he needed the rest of the night to himself if he was going to have any chance at figuring out just what the hell he was going to do.

_ I would much rather have Albus deal with this mess! _

Even if Dumbledore was not in hiding at the moment, the Dark Lord had cursed Snape. If he were to even utter the name “Henry Peverell” to anyone other than Voldemort or Peverell himself, he would die. Knowing the Dark Lord, the process would most likely be incredibly painful and torturously slow.

He needed a drink.

Skulking off toward his private rooms to brood over the pain in the arse that was Harry Potter, Snape corrected himself: If he were to utter the name “Henry Peverell” to anyone other than Voldemort or  _ Potter _ , he would die.

Why was he always the one to have to deal with these things?

 

— 

 

When Harry had walked with Neville from the Gryffindor tower to the Come and Go room last night, he'd had no idea what he was getting himself into. Not only had Neville not looked any better than he had after the encounter with Snape, but he'd had a very good reason to remain so disconcerted.

Snape had the ability to read minds!

Harry had shouted and kicked things for Neville's sake. When he'd found out just how violated and traumatized Neville had felt, he'd lost it.

Until the real questions had begun to form in his mind.

“How was Snape able to do it?” he had wondered out loud.

Neville had already stopped talking quite a while ago and was simply staring off into space while Harry paced the room.

“Was it a spell?”

Yes, it had to be. Snape had had his wand out when he and Umbridge had walked inside the classroom. So how did it work?

“Do you think Snape can do it when he is not close to the person? Does he have to be looking at you, or can he hear everyone's collective thoughts at once, like a jumbled mess of voices?”

This was when Neville had spoken up by saying that he was pretty sure Snape had to make eye contact because of the way he had held Neville’s chin to keep him from jerking his face away while he stared into his eyes and... He had trailed off and gone quiet again after that.

That was when Harry had known it was time to go back to their dorms and give Neville one of his spare Sleeping Draughts.

The following day, Harry had made sure not to look  _ anyone _ in the eye. Especially the staff. If Snape could do something so heinous, then the others probably could as well. It made sense! Half of the time, the professors knew things they shouldn't.

Now that he was on his way down to the potions classroom for his detention, his paranoia worsened. He kept telling himself he was only going so that he could get justice for Neville.

_ I'll just keep my eyes closed, _ he decided resolutely.

And yet, once at the door, he hovered there longer than necessary before turning the knob and sticking his head into the doorway to peer inside. Snape looked up at the sound of the door opening and had given Harry his usual unimpressed look, but, a few seconds later, as if it had taken the man a moment to realize whose face it was he was looking at, his expression became murderous.

For a moment, Harry had forgotten to avert his gaze. That was, until he really thought about it and decided that he was going to give the git a piece of his mind — whether Snape read it or listened to what Harry had to say. It was for Neville's sake! No one treated his friends like that. And violating someone’s  _ mind? _

He shoved his fear away and burst inside, throwing the door shut behind him so it would bang loudly. Snape stood from the seat at his desk and marched toward Harry with a fury and swiftness that was terrifying. His face was so pale and yet dark with rage that his black, billowing robes made him seem as if he were a dark entity that was not of this world.

Harry grit his teeth and mustered up all his nerve. No one hurt his friends. This was for Neville. He opened his mouth to shout, but the words that came from the Professor both cut him off and shocked him into confused silence.

"Henry Peverell?" the man snarled, stopping before Harry with his hands balled into fists. "You ungrateful child! After everything Dumbledore has done—" his voice was growing louder as he became more furious "—to keep you safe from the Dark Lord, and  _ this _ is how you repay him?"

"What?" was all Harry was able to ask in his confusion.

"You disguise yourself and leave the safety of the castle—"

The blood instantly drained from Harry’s face.

"—to prance around in the most  _ dangerous _ area of the  _ closest _ village you can find? Did you think no one would learn your secret if you disguised yourself?"

A few seconds ago, yes, Harry  _ had _ thought that.

"You honestly believed that your ‘persona’," Snape practically spat the word out, “would not bring forth consequences? Do you even  _ think _ before you act? Do you  _ have _ a brain inside that thick skull?"

Harry was speechless, so Snape continued ranting.

“I think not, for if you had, your face would not reflect surprise.  _ If you had _ , you would have been able to comprehend the danger you have willingly subjected yourself to. You are just like your bonehead of a father! Always doing things without thinking them through.”

That was too far in Harry's mind. You could insult him and belittle him all you liked, but you did  _ not _ insult his loved ones!

“My father was not—”

“How long have you been doing this?” Snape interrupted him, for all that Harry still finished his sentence.

“—a...a... _ bonehead?  _ And why does it matter? I wasn’t hurting any—”

“You have caught the attention of the  _ Dark Lord, _ Potter!”

That shut Harry up immediately. He was gaping in utter astonishment. Snape was momentarily appeased with the fact the he had finally managed to impart the danger into Potter's thick skull.

“He’s gay?” came Harry's only response.

That assumption flew out the window. Was Potter honestly this  _ thick?  _ It was Snape’s turn to look baffled.

“Voldemort...is gay?” Potter felt the need to repeat this fact apparently.

Snape was too taken aback to return to shouting despite the fact that he was more frustrated now than he had been before. “Yes,” he answered. “If that is all your poorly functioning brain can comprehend of this situation, then, yes.”

Harry didn't speak for a short time as he was lost in thought. “I guess…” he began, his tone considering, “. . . I shouldn’t be surprised. When he was young, he definitely  _ looked _ —” He didn't finish that sentence. It was obvious that he was talking solely to himself. “I just never really assumed. I mean, he was  _ definitely _ ...” He trailed off and blushed lightly, but moments later, he frowned and sported an expression that appeared to be shame.

“Yes, Potter, the Dark Lord is interested in men. That is all you should take from this insignificant meeting with me.” The need to be sarcastic was overwhelming. “The fact that he is the Dark Lord and you are Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, should never be taken into account.”

Harry frowned. “But you just said my  _ disguise _ caught his attention. He doesn’t know it was  _ me _ .”

“If that were the case, would I be speaking with you about your frivolous affairs outside the castle?” Snape snapped. “Use your brain! The Dark Lord is searching for you.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “That’s actually—” he smirked “—kind of flattering.”

Snape scoffed and raised his voice. “When he realizes your true identity—”

“How would he?” Harry argued. “ _ I’m _ not going to tell him. The only way he would find out about me was if  _ you _ told...him…” Snape’s face had become ashen in a heartbeat. Upon seeing it, the puzzle pieces began to come together inside Harry’s mind. His next question came out as a betrayed, bewildered whisper. “You’re going to tell him?”

Snape sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. That was confirmation enough for Harry.

“How could you?” Harry was shouting now. “I know you hate me, but—”

Snape said nothing.

After a few long moments, Harry realized that he had no words left. He was far too angry that his mind and mouth had both stopped communicating. All he could muster up the will to do was turn toward the door. He couldn’t handle this anymore. As soon as he opened it, however, it was jerked forward and slammed shut. Snape was holding it closed with his hand high above Harry’s head, leaning forward and staring down at Harry with an expression he’d never shown before.

Defeat.

“I have orders to bring you to him,” he said quietly. “If I had any other choice, I would not do so.”

“Then—then don’t!” Harry argued. “Why—”

“I have been cursed, Potter!” Snape declared. “And don’t forget—” he leaned forward into Harry’s face and growled out the rest of his sentence “— _ you _ were the one to start this.  _ You _ decided to disguise yourself as Henry Peverell and—”

“Why do you keep saying that name?” Harry suddenly interjected. “I use a disguise, but I don’t use a  _ name. _ I’ve never heard of—of someone named... _ Peverell?” _

Snape had grown silent while Harry ranted, his eyes still furious, but also searching, calculating the truth in Harry’s words.

“You don’t know,” he finally said. He stood up straight and rubbed his fingers against his forehead. His eyes closed and he gave a long sigh. “I continue to forget that.”

“Know  _ what?” _ Harry demanded.

“Anything.”

“Are you going to answer my questions, or are you just doing what you always do?” Harry snapped.

“And what do I always do, Potter?” Snape looked at him now with that familiar sour expression.

“I don’t know,” he began with sarcasm and then proceeded to explain something that felt so unexplainable. “You tell me to get a clue, but never actually  _ give _ me a clue.” He ran his hands through his hair and tugged at it, scowling at the ground. “No one does! Everyone expects me to know what’s happening while they all  _ leave me out of the loop _ . And  _ Dumbledore!” _ He was pacing in front of the Snape now, making furious hand gestures. “How am I supposed to save the Wizarding World—” here he made a sarcastic gesture as if to say the Wizarding Word wasn’t so great with his eye roll and hand movement “—if I’m not allowed to learn the war plans?”

When he finished, he was scowling up at Snape as if he were to blame. In Harry’s eyes, he was. He wasn’t the only one at fault, but he was definitely one of them.

“You insufferable—” Snape began to say, but suddenly stopped. His eyes grew wide with realization. “War plans.” He grabbed Harry by the arm and yanked him out of the way of the door. Opening it, with his other hand, he kept his grip on Harry and yanked him behind him down into the depths of the Dungeon.

Pathetically used to such behavior, Harry simply followed him without complaint. It wasn't as if Dumbledore didn't pull him along at his every whim as well. Perhaps not quite like this, but it was similar enough.

Not long after Harry had honestly gotten lost in the twists and turns and staircases that only continued downward, Snape finally opened a door (after muttering some kind of spell to do so) and forced Harry inside. Snape's hold on him disappeared as soon as the door was shut. He waltzed into the room, leaving Harry free to look around and take in his surroundings.

“Come, Potter,” Snape commanded, his tone clipped. “And keep your sly fingers off my things.”

Harry finally realized where he was: Snape's personal rooms. He was immediately curious yet oddly repulsed at the same time. The room was quite disorganized. The smell was alluring, which deviated from his expectations. It was a heavy, musky smell. Realizing that made Harry shiver.

He had never really taken much notice to how Snape smelled before now, but not once had he ever thought a word like “musky” would have described it. So why did this room smell so...good?

“Despite your uncanny ability to fool everyone else,” Snape was still talking as he walked about the room doing different things, like removing open books and stacks of papers off to one side of a cluttered couch and turning a chair that had previously been beside it around to face said couch, “ _ I know _ you are the one who steals from me every year. Put that down!”

Harry quickly put down the beautiful glass ball that had the strangest moving designs inside it, but kept his eyes on the desk he was perusing. It had all sorts of beautiful glass things atop it.

“Are you deaf, Potter?” Snape spat, suddenly there and yanking Harry until he could toss him onto the empty side of the couch.

Books and papers promptly fell into Harry's lap. While Snape sat down in the chair across from him and magically called over a bottle of alcohol and a glass, Harry neatly placed the disarray of items back into place. Well, as neatly as possible.

“I never imagined you would be so…”

“I do not need a teenager nitpicking my cleanliness,” Snape scoffed, taking a sip from his glass.

Harry raised his eyebrows and bit his lips. He silently agreed to disagree.

“And what is that  _ smell?” _ Harry couldn't stop himself from demanding an answer.

“That... _ smell _ ...would be the Dark Lord,” Snape told him in an almost bored tone of voice and proceeded to watch in concealed amusement as Potter jerked upright from his seat and drew his wand. His panicked eyes darted around the room in search of someone who wasn't there. “You fool,” Snape insulted him, almost actually allowing a chuckle to escape his lips. “The Dark Lord cannot breach the castle walls.” Potter glared at him and the smirk he did not try to hide. “After becoming Headmaster, Dumbledore made sure of that.”

Harry put away his wand and sat back down. He crossed his arms defensively.

“Then what did you mean?” he asked.

“The items you were so interested in,” Snape began explaining, pointing a pale finger at the desk Harry was still very drawn to, “are dark artifacts.”

Harry’s face drained of color. He was drawn to  _ dark _ artifacts.

“They are rare and worth more than most collectors can afford. I don't suppose you can guess to whom they belong?”

“Him,” Harry answered quietly, not realizing that he was staring unblinkingly at the strange glass sphere yet again.

“Yes,” Snape drawled slowly, watching Harry closely. “That one in particular…”

Harry jerked his attention away from the ball to look at Snape as soon as the man called him out on his ogling.

“...was forged by the Dark Lord himself.”

Harry gulped.

“They smell like him because he had them in his personal possession until this morning.”

“Th-this morning?” Harry wasn't sure why he'd asked.

Snape took another swig of his drink as he stared Harry down. “The Dark Lord is searching for you, ‘Henry Peverell,’” he spoke the name as if he were taunting Harry with it, “and those artifacts were spelled to lure you here. They will continue to lure you here in unexpected ways until you go to him.”

Harry's heart was pounding in his ears. Lord Voldemort wanting to capture him was nothing new. He had used countless methods in attempt to do so in the past, but this felt different.

It scared Harry because there was a part of him that felt  _ safe _ around the dark magic that was emanating from the sphere Voldemort had created. There was a part of him that  _ wanted _ to be found.

And that was frightening.

“What do I do?” Harry asked, voice quivering.

“I will take you to him—” Snape began to say, but Harry cut him off.

“What? I can't just  _ go to him!” _

“If you are disguised, no harm will come to you. Once he has spoken to you, I will return you safely to Hogwarts.”

“How can you be so sure?” Harry asked, his panic rising. “How do I know you aren't leading me into a trap?”

“He doesn't know that  _ you _ are Henry Peverell,” Snape reminded him. “It is Peverell he wants, not you.”

“Who is Henry Peverell?” Harry demanded, jumping to his feet. “How can my disguise look exactly like someone I've never met?”

“Regardless, it  _ does _ ,” Snape said patiently, as he had been expecting resistance.

“Then why not bring him the  _ real _ ‘Henry Peverell’ and leave me out of it?” Harry shouted.

It seemed that the boy did have a brain. Snape had to think fast. He, too, got to his feet.

“I am cursed, Potter!” He revealed for the second time tonight. He saw Harry wince. “The Dark Lord believes  _ you _ are Henry Peverell. If I do not deliver you  _ on time _ …” He paused, wondering if he really wanted to use this against the boy.

After a few long moments, Harry asked warily, “What? What will the curse do?”

There was no turning back now.

“It will kill me.”

  
  


—

Author’s note:

In my defense, I feel like Snape has so much on his plate that sometimes his personal quarters are quite messy. Feel free to disagree.

Follow to get chapter updates. Favorite to be sweet. Review to win my heart.

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Lots of love,

Amy


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is set in Tom's time, the year 1940. Older "Henry Peverell" and younger Tom Riddle.

"Riddle, where are you?"

A girl had come into the dark, silent library a few minutes ago. Since then she'd been whispering for Tom. He had immediately cast "disillusionment" upon himself and watched her silently. She was from his House. He recognized her. She was a fourth year.

"Everyone knows you sleep in the library," she hissed in her frustration. "Why are you hiding?"

Tom scoffed from his spot behind a bookshelf and watched her jerk in surprise at the sudden noise. "What do you want?" he whispered angrily.

"You  _ are _ here!" She sounded relieved as she looked in his general direction, frowning once she realized he was still hidden. "Where are you?"

"Why are you here at this ungodly hour? I was asleep!"

She shuffled inside her robe pockets and took out the bracelet that Peverell should have had in his possession. He grimaced at it, remembering exactly what it signified.

"Get that thing away from me!" he snarled.

She looked shocked for a moment, but recovered quickly. "I don't know what your problem is, but you must come with me. Peverell has-"

"Didn't you hear what I said?" he seethed and she looked affronted by his interruption. "Get out! Tell Peverell to stay away from me."

"Are you serious? How can you... After what he just..." Her anger seemed to choke her, keeping her from finishing her sentences.

"What does it have to do with  _ you?" _ he demanded. "Why didn't he come here himself?"

"Are you thick?" she shrieked and ignored him when he shushed her for being too loud. "The entire Slytherin  _ House _ sent me here, not Peverell.”

Tom was taken aback. What kind of plot was this? The entire Slytherin House? What did that mean?

"Why is he wasting his time on you?" she continued. "You aren't even aware of the treatment you are receiving. Every girl  _ dreams _ of someone like Peverell and you...you throw his efforts away as if they mean nothing!"

"What are you talking about?" Tom finally began to shout. "What efforts? If you knew what that bracelet implied, you wouldn't-"

Both of them gasped sharply when the lights inside the library suddenly turned on and a familiar and very unwelcome voice barked, "What is going on in here? Curfew was  _ hours  _ ago!"

It was the janitor. Tom was still concealed by his spell, but the girl was entirely exposed. She was facing away from Tom, staring up at the man with wide eyes. He looked outraged to see that she was standing alone when he had clearly heard two voices.

"Where is the other one?" he demanded.

Unexpectedly, rather than address the janitor, she tossed the bracelet on the ground near Tom and looked over her shoulder. Unsure exactly where he was, her eyes fixated on the bookshelf next to his head. "Take it and go," she whispered.

"Come out," the Janitor ordered, taking out his wand and stepping forward, looking around the emptiness for the hidden student.

The wand seemed to deter the girl, who was now standing ramrod straight and staring it worriedly, but Tom wasn't afraid of such an obvious bluff. The staff at Hogwarts never actually did the students any harm. He did not understand why the other students always seemed to react as if they did. He dove for the bracelet and darted behind the bookshelf to the man's left.

"Get back here!" the janitor hollered, jerking forward, his reflexes slowed because of his age—or so Tom assumed. Tom was already behind him. He quietly maneuvered around the man's body and gripped of the girl's arm. She yelped and jumped, but didn't resist enough for him to be unable to pull her behind him as they made a run for it. The man chased after them, but Tom flicked his wand and cast the disillusionment spell upon the girl as well. When he silenced their footsteps, they were able to lose him.

As soon as Tom was sure they had escaped, he slowed down. They were both panting and she was the one holding his arm now rather than the other way around. It irritated him, but he wasn't done with her yet, so he said nothing about it. Quickly relinquishing the spell on both of them, he glared at her. She didn't seem to notice because she was leaning forward, holding her stomach with her free arm as she tried to catch her breath.

"I didn't expect you to help me," she admitted, sounding only slightly appreciative, but more apprehensive. "I guess I owe you one."

"Starting now," he said, his tone clipped. That captured her full attention. "Who sent you and why?"

"Peverell attacked the entire Slytherin House," was her immediate answer.

Tom had always been able to tell when people were lying to him, but, despite what she had just said, she didn’t seem to be fibbing. He gaped at her for a moment before she continued after realizing that he was speechless.

"Half the House has been cursed and the other half refuse to leave the common room until you arrive."

This had to be fake. Tom worried that his internal "lie detector" was broken. After all, he had fallen for Peverell’s lie. His uncanny ability had always worked before, so why was it failing him now?

His expression must have conveyed his incredulity because she nodded. "I know. It does seem unbelievable. You will see for yourself when we get there.”

Under usual circumstances, Tom wouldn't have followed her. Wary of a trap, but too curious to see if this was true, Tom found himself walking beside her as they traveled down into the Dungeons. He couldn't help himself. He had to see this for himself. The sadistic part of him wanted to see the damage Peverell had caused. The other side of him—the side he usually ignored and pushed to the back of his mind—wanted to hope again. To hope that his first impression of Henry Peverell had been correct. To hope that Henry was  _ not _ a conniving, new bully only trying to deceive him.

Just before they reached the entrance, the girl stopped. She was looking at the bracelet he clutched in his hand.

"You had better put that on," she advised him, but she was frowning as if she hadn't wanted to say it.

"Why?" he asked, subconsciously clutching it tighter and bringing it up to his chest possessively.

The way she was looking at it…

She “ticked” her tongue against the back of her teeth while sucking in a sharp breath as she looked away and scowled. "I simply cannot believe I am jealous of a Mud-" she stopped herself before she finished that awful word. Suddenly impatient, she said the password and heatedly marched inside, snapping at him to, "Come on," from over her shoulder.

At first, he hesitated, but quickly realized that he had come this far, so he might as well finish what he had started. He was too curious to leave now anyway. Not to mention that the library was going to be under surveillance for the rest of the night. He had nowhere to return to. Just as he entered the common room, he decided to quickly slip the bracelet on his right wrist. She must have told him to do so for a reason. When he looked up, what he saw stopped him dead in his tracks.

Every Slytherin student—from first years to seventh years—was crammed together on the right side of the room, blocking the stairways to the dorms. There had to be over one hundred students cramped together. To fit everyone, some people were sitting on top of each other's shoulders. Others were sitting on top of the many mounted lanterns, statues (of merpeople and lake creatures), and anything else attached high upon the entirety of the right side of the room.

It was silent and all eyes were on Tom. His dark brown eyes glided from the right side of the room, to the middle. On the far wall, directly in front of where he currently stood, was the fireplace. Above said fireplace was a very intricate and detailed piece of artwork that Tom did not recognize. It looked as if it were a human boy with his arms and legs sprawled out. He squinted to see it better.

It was Charles Hornby!

Tom's eyes widened. Hornby wore no shirt or robe. He only had on his trousers and shoes. The way his head hung forward, Tom thought he might be dead. On his chest and stomach were two, large, poorly scripted words. In all black, they read, "cheap shag."

Tom was gaping as his greedy eyes took in more of the scene before him that only became worse—or better depending upon how he looked at it—upon further inspection.

"Is he dead?" Tom's numb voice filled the room. It held no emotion. He had no idea what to feel at the moment. His heart was pounding with what he thought might be excitement if it wasn't fear.

"Of course not."

Looking to the left side of the room now, he saw that there only stood one person. He was dressed just as richly as usual. His black clothing and shoes were accentuated with hints of red and gold. His hair hung in his green eyes that had a bright, eerie glow. The sight of him—standing regally, completely unscathed—made Tom's face heat up.

Henry Peverell.

He was watching Tom with a very serious expression on his face. Actually, when Tom paid more attention, he seemed concerned.

"I am not a killer. However," Henry looked to Hornby and then back at Tom, "I do hate bullies."

"You did this," Tom breathed, the words gliding off his tongue like the admiration snaking up his spine.

"You seem...shocked," Henry pointed out, brows furrowed in more obvious concern now. "I did not have to take things quite  _ this _ far, but he fought me. They all did." He looked up at the ceiling for a second and it was only then that Tom realized Hornby's body was not the only one on display. "I hadn't meant to do more than a few prank spells to humiliate them..." He trailed off.

Tom examined the students that were plastered onto the ceiling. Some of them seemed to be awake. Their eyes were moving back and forth rapidly. Some were staring down at him pleadingly. The others were fast asleep. Their clothes were still on, but Tom noticed that they, too, had a word written on them. It was too small to read and stretched across their faces in that same, sloppy handwriting.

"I can't read it from down here," Tom said and looked to Henry. "What did you write?"

"The word, 'tyrant,' is written on each of their faces," Henry answered, watching Tom avidly.

"They  _ all _ fought you?" the younger asked, looking back up. "There are at least fifty of them. How were you able to defeat that many students?" Now he was glaring at Henry, suspicion in his eyes.

"I stand corrected," Henry seemed to chuckle, looking down in embarrassment. "I didn't fight  _ all _ of them. Most of them were cursed simply for saying the 'M' word."

Tom paused for a moment before stating the only logical word that could be. "Mudblood."

The remaining students on the other side of the room made noises and they all seemed to jerked forward, leaning their faces a little closer toward Tom to see if he, too, would end up like the students on the ceiling. When he didn't, they were extremely unhappy about it. One of them was so displeased, he stepped forward with his wand and, before Henry had even noticed him, shouted, "Stupefy!”

Tom and Henry both pointed their wands at the same time, but it was apparent that neither of them were going to be able to stop the spell now that it had already been cast. The moment it hit Tom, who had squeezed his eyes shut in a flinch, it disappeared.

Henry let out an audible sigh of relief. "You are wearing it," he said through a pleased smile.

Tom frowned at him in confusion and followed Henry’s line of sight to see what he was looking at. The bracelet. He lifted his arm to see that the silver snake's ruby eyes were glowing. They did so for a few more seconds before fading.

It was then that Tom realized that the older girl who had paid him a visit in the library a few hours ago—implying to Tom that Henry had wanted to claim him as a slave—had been wrong. He also realized all of the runaway thoughts in his mind that had been nagging at him about _what_ _exactly_ this bracelet entailed before she had shown up, had been right.

Tom had purposefully skipped every marital tradition in those books because he had not wanted to admit that a courtship was exactly what it could be. He had thought, if he allowed himself to read about the marriage customs, then he would have to admit that the twisting inside his stomach and the warmth inside his chest meant that he…

...liked it.

Tom did  _ not _ hate the thought of courtship.

He  _ liked _ it.

He stared at the boy across from him with wide eyes. Henry's expression changed from relieved to worried in an instant. He began to walk toward Tom, but stopped, when Tom took a step back.

That seemed to make Henry panic. He ran a hand through his hair and with gasping, fearful breaths he hurriedly explained, "I know this must seem too elaborate, but I...I did not plan it this way. I was going to do this slowly. I was going to let you get to know me before I even gave you the bracelet. I had every intention to ask your permission first. Don't feel pressured. I just... I just..." He raised his voice and motioned toward the entirety of the room with his arm. "The way they were treating you was so much worse than I could have ever imagined. Before I knew it, you were wearing the bracelet and I was suddenly here...dueling. And...and..." He trailed off, looking defeated and drained. "You don't have to accept me if you don't want to. You can walk away."

"No!" one of the girls in the crowd shouted, stepping forward. She pointed at someone on the ceiling. "Katherine is up there!"

The rest of the crowd began to protest as well, all of them aiming their anger at Tom. He had no idea why. What was he supposed to do about it? Henry was the one who had cursed them!

"Shut it!" one of the Slytherins suddenly bellowed, far louder than the rest. He stepped forward, scowling at Tom. "Peverell created this curse. The only way it can be lifted is if you accept his courtship. You have to say the exact words, ‘I accept’ into the bracelet. If our friends are not released, I am not afraid to go to the Headmaster to-"

Henry cut him off. "I hadn't expected you to actually bring Tom here," he explained. "I had only said that to frighten you. I can lift the curse myself. Tom has nothing to do with it."

"Then release them!" that same girl from before shouted and it, once again, urged the others to speak up as well.

Tom held the bracelet up to his chest, ignoring the commotion around him. He knew what he wanted. He had already made his decision.

"I accept," he whispered to the snake and watched its ruby eyes beam brightly.

The bodies above them slowly lowered themselves to the ground. Everyone had stared at Tom for a moment, but once their companions were within reach, their attention was elsewhere. Tom looked up to see Henry giving him the strangest expression. He seemed happy, relieved, and sad all at the same time. Before Tom could discern what emotion he should be feeling, a voice boomed throughout the room.

"Peverell!" Hornby shouted from the floor. Lifting the curse must have meant everyone would also be awoken. "Get this off...me..." He had been lifting himself up through a push-up and had looked down at himself as he spoke, intending to motion down at the words on his torso, but his voice trailed off when he found that his skin was bare.

Tom looked around at the sluggish students that were now released from whatever amazing curse Henry had concocted to see that none of them had the tattoos on their faces. As they began to stand with the help of their friends or furniture, everyone began to file out of the common room and into the dormitories. Apparently no one wanted to deal with Henry Peverell or Tom Riddle anymore. They simply wanted to put this behind them.

"I am an elaborate prankster," Henry said, making Tom jump because he hadn't noticed him approach. "Nothing more. I hope you didn't get the wrong idea."

Tom didn't say anything in response. His energy was depleted entirely. He could tell that it was showing on his face because Henry definitely noticed it—if his returning concern was any indication.

Henry held out his hand and Tom took it without hesitation. "Come with me," he said, leading Tom toward the crowd of people, apparently planning to take him down into the dorms as well. "Your second gift already prepared."

"I am  _ not _ finished!" Hornby was suddenly in their faces, blocking them from the staircase.

The few people waiting in line to go down only shook their heads at him. Some were interested in what would happen and stayed behind to watch. Tom noticed that a few of them were watching Henry with admiration or, perhaps, a new found respect.

Hornby shot a silent spell at them, but Henry held up Tom's right hand. The bracelet absorbed it. Grunting in aggravation, the Slytherin cast five more in quick succession. They were all absorbed. Tom's eyes were alight with a striking amount of greed as he stared at the bracelet.

"Go to sleep, Charles," Henry commanded him in a voice filled with pity. "You will never touch Tom again and I have just defeated you before your entire House. Your reputation is forever tarnished.”

After a moment of shock, Charles Hornby dropped to one knee and deflated in devastation. Tom burned the memory of this moment into his brain. Henry then gracefully led him around his oldest bully and down the stairs.

They walked straight into Tom's shared dorm and he noticed with disappointment that it looked the same. He frowned, wondering where Henry's second gift could be.

“Your bed cannot be approached by anyone other than you," Henry said as they walked up to it and sat down upon the green blanketed mattress. "The curtains can only be closed and opened by you. Your belongings are also behind the barrier and cannot be touched. Anything you place on top of your bed can be transported to you if you whisper its name into the bracelet."

"What?" Tom was immediately excited. "No matter where I am?"

Henry smiled. "As long as you are inside the castle."

Tom took out his wand and looked at it questioningly. "What about my wand?"

Henry frowned in confusion. "You mean, can you call it if you leave it on your bed? Yes."

Tom shook his head. "If I lose it, is there a way to..."

The shake of Henry’s head stopped him from finishing his question.

"But Ollivander has many different tools for wands," Henry pointed out, happy to see Tom perk up. "I'll buy you anything you need."

"When can we go?"

The light in the room went out and they looked around. Everyone else was in bed. Henry flicked his wand to light the candle beside Tom's bed and continued talking as if it would not disrupt the other people’s slumber.

"If I get permission from the Headmaster, we can go tomorrow."

Tom flicked his own wand to silence the area around them so they wouldn't be heard, but the barrier around his bed shimmered a light blue before becoming invisible once more.

"Did I forget to mention that it is also silenced?" Henry asked sheepishly. "You can only be heard by others if you are distressed. I made sure of that."

The harsh expression of fear on Tom's face relaxed. He hadn't even known he had tensed up like that.

"I know they used silencing spells on your bed when they trapped you inside," Henry explained, his expression becoming angry for a moment, but he quickly regained control. "I didn't want you to feel as if you might not be heard when you needed help."

Tom nodded and yawned. Henry smiled down at him.

"You should sleep. Skip classes until lunch. I will tell the professors that you are ill."

Henry stood to leave, but Tom stopped him by grabbing his hand. When Henry looked at him, the words died on his tongue. He'd never really said this before. Perhaps a few times, but he hadn't honestly felt the meaning behind it. Until now. However, he didn't seem to have to say anything. Henry got the message from the look on his face.

With a bit of hesitation, Henry bent down and kissed Tom's hand. He allowed his lips to linger there as he brought his other hand up to close around the bracelet on Tom's wrist, as if he needed to feel it in order to make sure it was there. Tom's stomach twisted again and his face heated up, but he didn't jerk away. The warm feeling spread throughout his chest again.

Once Henry was gone and Tom lay in bed in the dark, he brought the back of his hand up to his face. He decided it was too embarrassing to kiss the tingly spot that Henry's lips had touched.

He kept the bracelet in his line of sight—purposefully lying on his side to do so—until his eyes finally fluttered closed and he fell into the best, and most restful, sleep he had ever had.


	11. Chapter 11

**This chapter is set** **_before_ ** **Harry is sent to the past. All odd numbered chapters are set in the “future” or “Harry’s time.”**

 

—

 

Snape released his grip on Harry’s wrist once they reached the Floo. The man had grabbed Harry as soon as he had agreed to meet Voldemort and had dragged him into a room that had been previously hidden behind a bookshelf. It was dark inside; the only thing to look at was the Floo and a floating glass bowl beside it that held the distinctly green Floo powder.

“You have one minute to transform into Henry Peverell.”

Harry's eyes widened exponentially. “Now? We're going to meet Voldemort  _ now? _ ”

Snape’s nose crinkled in distaste. “Does that not bode well with your schedule, Potter?” he drawled sourly.

Harry ignored the rhetorical question to continue his argument. “Shouldn't we have a plan?”

“You will meet with the Dark Lord as Henry Peverell, you will answer anything he asks, and I will bring you back here.”

“That's not a plan!”

“Honestly!” Snape scoffed. “Have you not learned by now? The Dark Lord  _ never _ shares his objectives with  _ anyone.  _ There is no telling what he will ask you. He has gone mad in his search for you.” At Harry's inquiring look, he elaborated, “You, as in  _ Peverell _ ,” before continuing. “The  _ plan _ —” he paused to emphasize that word “—is for you to make him believe he has, indeed, found Henry Peverell.”

Harry had an immediate reply ready as soon as Snape finished his final sentence. “In order to do that, shouldn't I know how to  _ act _ like Henry?”

Snape took quite a long while to consider this and Harry stared at him as if he were an imbecile. It was true that the boy had a point. He had no clue that he was the  _ actual  _ Henry Peverell. Snape had to think of something, and quickly. He had told his Lord that morning that he would be bringing Henry this evening. Ever since, the mark on his arm had continued to sting, becoming more painful as the Dark Lord grew more and more impatient.

“Henry Peverell is…” He hesitated. “Henry Peverell  _ was _ the Dark Lord's lover. He died while they were students in Hogwarts.”

Harry had already shouted, “What!,” incredulously before he had finished his second sentence. Snape had intended to tell him more, but now he was too annoyed to try to explain his lie.

“We haven't the time for this,” he snapped. “The  _ curse! _ ”

Harry flinched at the mention of Snape's curse. It had been the reason Harry had accepted to go. Despite the boy's (slightly) better judgment, he had agreed to meet the Dark Lord to protect Snape. As he watched Harry mumble a few compliant words and proceed to transfigure his face, glamour his hair and cast a spell upon his eyes to ensure he no longer required glasses, Snape felt his guilt expand. He decided to tell the rest of his lie about Henry's death. It would make Harry feel more prepared and that was as close to fair as Snape could get at the moment.

“Henry died when the Dark Lord was a student attending Hogwarts. He has never loved another.” Harry looked surprised and almost sympathetic. “When he saw you in Hogsmeade, he convinced himself that you were... _ are _ the real Henry Peverell and that you have yet to meet him because you are a time traveler.”

Now Harry was sympathetic. “That is so…” He trailed off.

Knowing what Harry had been about to say and agreeing wholeheartedly that his Lord's love affair was quite tragic—even if it hadn't actually ended in death—he nodded. But something was off. Looking at Harry's face that now resembled Henry's, he frowned.

“Something is missing,” he said. “You do not look exactly like Henry.”

Harry seemed to think over everything he had done during his transformation until realization overcame his features. He lifted his wand to his face and silently cast a spell. The green that his eyes had been previously became more vibrant. Within this dark room, Snape could clearly see their illumination. They were  _ glowing _ . He gaped. Whenever he had seen Henry Peverell in the Dark Lord's memories, he had assumed that the glow in the boy's eyes had simply been his Lord's perception. His adoration “shining” through. Apparently that was not the case.

The wand in Harry’s hand caught Snape’s eye and he panicked when he remembered something. Something that could have cost Harry his life if he had overlooked it.

“Your wand,” he demanded, holding his hand out. “Now!”

Harry didn't argue for once and handed it to him. Snape let out a sigh of relief. “I will return it to you afterwards.”

“Wait…” Harry frowned. “You aren't keeping it. What if—”

“If you need to kill the Dark Lord?” Snape snarled and Harry looked taken aback by his unexpected shift in mood. “Stop thinking as if you are ‘The Chosen One.’” The contempt in his tone was obvious. “You are Henry Peverell, his  _ lover _ . You have no reason to draw your wand.” Harry was very ready to spit fire, but Snape spoke louder to prevent him from interrupting. “Moreover,  _ this _ wand belongs to Harry Potter. Should he see it, your cover will be blown.”

Harry's eyes widened. “Then...then...what do I do?”

“Stick to the plan. He would  _ never _ threaten Henry's life. However, should he have seen your wand, there is no telling what he would have done.”

Harry seemed to accept it when Snape tucked his wand away inside his robe, but he remained frowning. “So,” he said, deciding to change the subject, “I should act...friendly?”

“Yes,” Snape answered sternly.

“Should I…” He began, but Snape cut him off as he grabbed a fistful of powder and walked into the floo.

“We will delve further into that later. We must hurry.” Harry stepped inside. “Just act as you do when you are masquerading around Hogsmeade. Tonight, you are not Harry Potter. Do you understand?”

“...I think so.”

Snape spoke clearly, “Sector Seven,” and dropped the floo powder. Harry stepped out after him when the transportation was over, but this was not their destination. Since floo travel was the only way one could do so in order to avoid the barriers around the school, this was an abandoned mansion that served as a middle ground for Snape to leave Hogwarts. He grabbed Harry's shoulder and apparated them to Malfoy Manor.

—

Harry opened his dizzy eyes and allowed himself a few seconds to stare down at his feet. He had not expected to also have to apparate right after using the floo. Blinking rapidly, but already recovering, he looked up.

There was someone standing from their spot on a white sofa that faced away from he and the professor. They turned and Harry forgot how to breathe.

It was as if he were twelve years old again, battling the boy trapped inside a diary down in the depths of the Chamber of Secrets. Teenage Tom Riddle was walking from said sofa toward them with his hands held behind his back and a charming grin on his face.

Harry couldn't look at him.

He turned his head to seek guidance from Snape who stood beside him, who seemed to be completely unfazed.

“My Lord,” he said and bowed his head respectfully.

Harry kept his eyes glued on Snape, even when Riddle's achingly familiar voice greeted him in a polite tone. “Hello, Henry.”

No.

Harry couldn't do this.

He had no idea where Voldemort was or how the boy from the diary was inside this room, but he did not care enough to find out. All he could think about was the fact that he was completely vulnerable.

He latched onto Snape, who looked down at him in shock. "Give me my wand," he pleaded quietly, but his tone grew higher when he fearfully repeated his demand a moment later. "Give me my wand!"

“His wand?” Riddle seemed to ask Snape, his tone conveying a terrifying anger that only made Harry's anxiety rise.

Snape looked in Riddle’s direction, and his face became ashen in seconds. He didn't try to speak; he simply began to take sideways steps away from Harry. However, it was useless. His grip was locked onto the professor’s arm like a vice.

"Severus!" Riddle hissed, sounding far darker and sinister than only a moment ago.

The sound of that familiar dark tone had Harry's heart pounding in his ears. He recognized it to mean murderous intent. Adrenaline began to course through his veins. Snape started to take larger steps, to which Harry followed suit, his hands never leaving the man's sleeve.

"Henry," Riddle called in a much gentler tone. When Harry ignored him, he said it again. "Henry!"

When Snape had finally reached his destination, which had been a closed door, he looked down at Harry again. "You must release me," he said, sounding more desperate than Harry had ever heard him.

“You are not leaving until you give me my wand!” Harry told him in a panicked frenzy.

Snape opened the door, but as soon as it was wide enough to fit at least one person through, a spell came flying from behind Harry. The purple electricity that had been within the unknown spell smacked into the door frame just above the professor’s head and burned the paint black. Snape froze.

"Severus!" Riddle hissed again. “Return his wand and step away from him  _ immediately _ . Henry…” His tone changed abruptly. It was softer, kinder, and it had the hairs on the back of Harry's neck standing on edge. “...you have no reason to fear me.”

Harry knew that he and Snape were in a predicament. If Snape did not return his wand, Harry was defenseless. If he _did_ , Riddle would know that he was _Harry_ _Potter_. His hysteria was what came up with the solution. It was something only someone filled with terror would have been able to do.

With agility that was quite astounding, he physically  _ climbed _ over the one thing standing in his way of the open door: Snape's body.

"Henry!" he heard Riddle shout.

Harry—now running like a madman escaping doomsday down an unfamiliar, marble-white hallway—turned his head to look back. Riddle was only just now emerging from the room and Snape was nowhere to be seen. Coming to the horrifying realization that his wand was not likely to be recovered from his missing professor, Harry picked up speed. He had to find another way out of here. There had to be a Floo somewhere inside this place. Looking forward, he saw that the hallway veered right. He had to slow down to make the turn and it resulted in the sound of Riddle's footsteps growing closer.

"Henry, stop!"

There was no way that was going to happen. Harry was not going to be killed by this boy. He had escaped him when he was twelve. Even if he was somehow back from the diary, Harry had no intentions of reliving that night. He did not want to defeat Tom Riddle again. He had already done that. It was supposed to be over with. Where was Voldemort and how was this happening?

"Henry," Riddle shouted. His voice was even closer now. Harry could hear him panting. "Henry...  _ Henry! _ ”

A hand snaked its way around Harry's bicep just as he was about to round another corner. He jerked his upper body, attempting to thwart the hand, but it caused him to lose his balance. As soon as he did, Riddle yanked his arm backward, forcing his torso to turn. The momentum of their running made the impact of his back smacking against the wall immensely painful.

Riddle stepped back and held him by the shoulders. Harry would have made a run for it if he hadn't looked into his eyes. Those eyes that were not a dark brown like they had been when Harry had first met him in the Chamber, but an illuminating red. Red like the Dark Lord's.

This…

...was Voldemort.

Harry was stunned silent and immobile, panting into the Dark Lord's face as he did the same. The man in the boy's body looked angry. He was grimacing down at Harry. But suddenly the grimace faded into... _ concern? _

Harry couldn't believe the sight before him. Voldemort would  _ not _ make a face like that. Not only would he not look at  _ him _ that way, but he was  _ evil! _ He was dark and sinister. He was...

"Tell me you do not fear me," the man said in a choked and pleading tone that made Harry's mind completely shut down. "Not you." Then he did something Harry was too frozen to stop and too surprised to fully comprehend. He leaned down and pressed their foreheads together. "Never you," he whispered. A hand came up and caressed Harry's cheek. It was trembling just slightly. "I have finally found you," he continued. "I have searched for fifty years."

Snape's words were finally sinking into Harry’s brain. He was supposed to be  _ Henry Peverell _ . Harry was supposed to  _ act _ like Henry Peverell. Harry had reacted and run away like  _ Harry Potter _ .

"I became everything I promised you I would become. I waited for you… And you fear me." Riddle leaned back and his hand traveled from Harry's cheek to his hair. "I have never hated my power more than I do at this very moment."

Harry had a part to play. Snape had informed him that Voldemort loved Henry and had never loved another. Henry had to have been something else if that were true. Someone worth loving for fifty years. Harry had no idea how to be someone like that. He was just...Harry.

_ What would a lover do to comfort their partner? _

Unsure if this was the correct answer, Harry lifted his hands up and clutched the fabric at Riddle's chest. To him, touching was very intimate. Especially touching someone near their heart. It felt like that was reserved for partners. He watched Riddle’s—no,  _ Voldemort’s _ —face avidly to gauge his reaction.

The change that overtook the man was immediate. Voldemort sucked in a sharp breath of surprise and peered down at Harry's hands. He then took just one step forward and pressed himself into Harry's body. His expression became something Harry had never seen on anybody's face before, for all that he could vaguely decipher it. It was love and adoration...but so much more than that. It was deeper. Darker.  _ Frightening _ .

Harry looked down at Riddle's chest in order to ignore the way his heart had skipped a beat and had brought blood to his cheeks.

"Vol-" Harry stopped immediately, realizing that Henry Peverell might have addressed the Dark Lord informally. Would Voldemort have allowed that, even then, in the past, when he and Henry had become lovers? Harry had to try it. He had to play his part so he would not blow his cover and be killed. "Tom...right?"

Oh no.

Henry wouldn't have  _ asked!  _ He would have just said it.

Harry looked up fearfully, his anxious imagination expecting some kind of backlash, but the reality was something that he couldn't tear his eyes away from: the heartbroken expression upon Riddle’s face. As if he had just been smacked, Riddle released his hold on him and took a few steps backwards.

"Yes," he said and then took a deep breath. "Yes. My name is, indeed, Tom. You have my sincerest apologies. You have no idea who I am and I have...attacked you.”

Now Harry was beyond confused. Wasn't that type of behavior—grabbing and touching—normal for lovers?

Snape's words echoed inside Harry's mind.  _ "—he convinced himself that you were... _ are _ the real Henry Peverell, and that you have yet to meet him because you are a time traveler.” _

Harry had misunderstood and thought Snape had meant that Riddle believed Henry had  _ not _ died in the past and had instead traveled to the future, but perhaps Snape had meant that Riddle believed Henry had traveled  _ from _ the future, into the past, where he had died? It was all very confusing. He had no idea what to do now. He had been trying to act as if he knew Riddle a moment ago, since he had failed to do so earlier. Riddle’s reaction had made Harry think he had been upset that Henry had run from him when Henry was supposed to love him and know who he was. But now…Harry was at a loss.

"I can see the confusion in your eyes," Riddle said, snapping Harry out of his jumbled mess of thoughts. "I... Again, you have my apologies. I should not have spoken as if I knew you. Nor should I have been so..." He seemed to struggle to find the right word. "... _ intimate _ ."

Harry wasn't sure why, but his face instantly heated up. The moment Riddle noticed it, that same intimidating expression of love and overbearing darkness crossed his features. He took a small step forward, but seemed to catch himself and returned to his polite, ashamed self.

Harry's heart was doing flips inside his chest. He definitely couldn't do this. It was too much. Whatever Voldemort wanted from Henry Peverell...Harry didn't have.

"Listen..." He began, unsure exactly how to word what he wanted to say in a polite manner. Riddle's attention was undivided, and it made him want to fidget. "I... I don't have my wand…”

He had more to say, but Riddle interrupted him. "Yes. I shall retrieve it immediately."

Harry decided to continue as if he hadn't spoken. "I just…don't feel very… What I mean is...I would like to..."

Riddle's face and voice were suddenly icy as he concluded, "You would like to return to Hogwarts." His smile was filled with self-loathing and Harry felt pity rise up from his stomach. “Yes, of course.”

He mumbled this to himself as he looked unseeingly down the hallway and ran a hand through his wavy hair, “Why wouldn’t you?”

Harry pretended as if he hadn't heard it and tried to also pretend that the guilt that was beginning to claw its way out of his pity was nothing he should concern himself with.

Returning his attention to Harry, Riddle attempted a real smile that was painful to look at. “Allow me to escort you.” He held out his elbow. “We will need to return to my private quarters.” Harry must have made a look because he quickly elaborated. “The room we occupied earlier, not my bedchamber.” Harry relaxed just slightly. “I would feel more comfortable knowing you were inside a safe place when I step out momentarily to retrieve your wand from my servant.”

_ Servant? _

Harry couldn't stop the chuckle that escaped his lips and he quickly covered his mouth. He placed his free hand on top of Riddle's elbow, both hoping the action would distract from his laughter, and not really wanting to  _ take _ his elbow. It didn't work as a distraction, of course.

“What is it?” Riddle asked, the color returning to his face and the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Harry hadn't noticed just how pale the other had become until now.

“I can't imagine that Snape enjoys being referred to as a servant,” he said, lowering his hand only when his expression had returned to something calmer.

The moment they locked gazes and Riddle had a second to see that Harry's humor was sincere, he smiled. Something Harry had never seen him do without it also having a hint of something frightening behind it. This smile was not charming, or polite, or fake. It was not dark. It was genuine and kind.

“Regardless of what they prefer, they are all my—” He had begun to reply, but stopped and his expression morphed into concern. “Henry?”

Harry didn't know what expression was on his face, but it he knew the emotion he was feeling. Surprise. And...admittedly...a strange tingling inside his chest. He tried to ignore that emotion, but it was the reason that his cheeks heated up.

Just like before, as soon as Harry blushed, the intimidating look came back to Riddle's features. It pulled Harry out of his daze. Now that he remembered who stood next to him, he cleared his throat and looked away, darting his attention anywhere but into those red eyes. Peering down the hallway, he saw two figures approaching. He instinctively stepped forward to protect the person next to him, so used to doing so when it was one of his friends beside him.

“No.” Riddle reprimanded sternly, lowering his elbow and closing it around Harry's hand.

Finding himself wrapped around the man’s arm caused déjà vu to hit Harry like a ten ton brick and he shot Riddle a look of shock. Could it be? He had no time to ponder over it, because the man began walking forward and Harry was forced to follow.

“Do not take a defensive stance,” he was saying as he glared at the people in the distance. “I will put them in their place should they threaten you.” He looked Harry directly in the eye and the darkness that Harry could see there made him shiver. With discomfort—or so he told himself. “You are safe. Do you understand?”

Harry did not want to nod because he did not want to admit that he  _ did _ feel safe. Riddle noticed his lack of compliance and grit his teeth, but said nothing. As the figures grew closer, Harry recognized them. They were Draco Malfoy’s parents.

Harry did not notice that he had subconsciously brought his other hand up to grip Riddle's elbow at the sight of them. It had been due to a rush of fear. After all, it was difficult to remember that you did not look like yourself when you were in the presence of people you recognized. Around strangers, it was much easier to be submersed in the act of playing a different person.

“Not to worry,” Lucius was telling his wife in a quiet tone, while keeping his eyes on Harry and Riddle. “They are young. The Dark Lord is recruiting for the Cause.”

Making sure to stop quite a few feet away as well as keep the left site of his body in front of Harry protectively, Riddle spoke to the inquiring and sneering faces of the Malfoys. “No, Lucius, we are not new recruits.”

Lucius looked outraged. “I beg your pardon? You would speak my first name so familiarly? Have you no—”

He suddenly sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth and clutched his arm. Both he and his wife took a moment to search the premises and Harry frowned at them in confusion. What were they looking for? He looked around as well. The four of them were alone.

“You do not recognize me, Lucius, Narcissa?” Riddle asked in a tone that was sharp and chastising.

Their shocked eyes zeroed in on Riddle at the same time that Harry’s did. They had all come to their own discernment at the same time. The two Malfoys came to the awareness that this young man was the Dark Lord. Harry came to the realization that he had not been the only one who had not expected to see Voldemort in the body he had once had long ago.

“My Lord?” Lucius asked disbelievingly, frowning at Riddle as if he were an impostor.

Narcissa seemed to accept this new revelation despite her husband’s opinion on the matter. Her mask of indifference returned and she bowed her head respectfully.

“Before you assume that I am a charlatan,  _ remember _ …” Riddle's tone was portentous, “...only  _ I _ control the mark.”

Harry saw Lucius flinch and assumed that Riddle had emphasized his statement by forcing the Dark Mark to become more painful. That tactic seemed to have worked because the man showed his acceptance of Voldemort’s appearance shortly after by standing straight, feigning poise in the face of his pain, and bowing his head.

“Forgive me, my Lord,” he apologized. To Harry’s discomfort, their eyes locked. “Is this also someone I do not recognize?”

Harry tensed because, yes, he  _ was _ someone Lucius did not recognize. Riddle must have noticed Harry’s unease, because he guided Harry behind him a bit more. Although he hated the feeling of vulnerability, he liked that someone was willing to step in front of him for once. However, the gesture made both of Draco’s parents eye him inquisitively.

“No,” Riddle replied, “and his presence here will only increase. I expect you keep yourselves scarce. Is that understood?”

Narcissa smiled politely and wrapped her hands around her husband’s arm. “Of course, my Lord,” she said sweetly. “Come along, Lucius.”

She led Lucius around them, and he bowed his head one last time in Riddle’s direction before following her silently. Riddle did not hesitate. He rushed Harry back toward the room they had run from earlier. They walked briskly inside the room that had been left wide open. The door shut behind them. Harry wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but having Riddle take him by the hand when they stood in front of the sofa and gently guide him into a sitting position was not it. What was worse, the man then bent forward and kissed the back of his hand. Harry’s face was beet red by the end of it, and he made sure to turn his head away so he would not have to see the expression that overcame the man’s face because of his blush.

“Allow me to retrieve your wand,” Riddle said in a heavy tone that did nothing to stop Harry’s quickly beating heart. “I will return shortly.”

Realizing that was not a good idea because Snape was currently carrying  _ Harry Potter’s _ wand, Harry jumped up, which stopped the man in his tracks. “Wait. No!” He nearly shouted, holding up his hand with his palm out. “You don’t need… Snape will give it back to me when I go back to Hogwarts.”

Riddle looked surprised. “When you go back to Hogwarts…” he stated in a way that seemed as if it were a question, for all that it didn’t sound like one.

“Yes.” Harry nodded and lowered his hand to his side.

Riddle was staring at him with an intensity that Harry found alarming. He didn’t say anything for quite some time and Harry fidgeted.

“What?” he asked.

Still standing completely rigid and staring at him avidly, the man finally spoke. “Will you consider…returning?” Harry frowned in confusion. He elaborated. “To me.”

Harry froze in fear. “Return to you?”

Riddle took a step toward him and Harry felt as if it had been predatory. “I fear that I may already know the answer, but I must ask before I act.”

He took another step forward and Harry took a step backward. “Before you act? What are you going to do?”

“When you go back to Hogwarts, will you consider returning to me?” Riddle asked in a dark tone that had Harry on edge.

“If I say no?” Harry was sure to take a few steps backwards and stand so the couch was in between them.

Riddle took only two more predatory steps forward. “Is that your answer?”

Harry looked behind himself, hoping to find something to use as a backup weapon in lieu of his wand. When his gaze returned to Riddle, it was to find that he was right in front of him. Harry jerked backwards and rushed behind the couch, gripping the back of it fearfully.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

“I am not going to harm you,” Riddle said, holding out his empty hands in the universal ‘I come in peace’ gesture, but Harry could sense the danger very clearly. “I am simply asking a question.”

“And if I say yes?” Harry asked and saw the immediate change that overcame Riddle’s features. His posture relaxed just slightly. He still seemed to want to capture Harry, but the frightening…whatever it had been…on his face was nearly gone.

“Is that your answer?” Riddle repeated, the fierceness of his tone nearly gone.

“Yes,” Harry replied now that he knew that was what the man wanted to hear.

Riddle appeared to be extremely relieved. Harry was about to relax, but, suddenly, the man was approaching him again. It was still predatory even if the darkness had left his facial features. Harry backed away quickly, headed toward the couch that was on the other side of the room, perhaps two yards away.

Tom was frowning at him now. “Why do you keep running from me?”

Harry immediately retorted, “Why do you keep chasing me?”

Tom huffed and picked up his pace. Harry did the same, now rounding the back of the other couch and proceeding toward the one they had been at previously. He was going in a circle, but he didn’t notice or care. He did not like the way Riddle was looking at him.

“Stop running,” Riddle demanded, although, to Harry, it didn’t sound as if it were an order. It sounded as if he felt helpless to stop Harry, but still wanted to have his way. It was enough to make Harry laugh.

“Stop chasing me,” he responded through a grin.

Unexpectedly, Riddle froze, his eyes wide in shock as he stared at Harry. Harry slowed down and had been about to ask what was wrong, when the man broke into an abrupt sprint. Afraid, Harry bolted away. They did another circle around the room until Riddle tried to cut through it. Harry switched directions, but Riddle was closing in. When they were back where they had been at the beginning, Harry behind the sofa and Tom at the side of it, far too close, Harry jumped over it. He pushed himself forward by landing one foot onto the coffee table and was now headed for a safe landing onto the other sofa. That is, until Tom made it there first. As soon as Harry landed, Tom grabbed him by the waist and yanked him down. His back landed onto the softness of the cushions below.

Harry couldn’t stop himself. He laughed again, but this time it was breathless. Tom was panting down at him and holding him in place with one hand pinning his shoulder and the other pinning his hip. When Harry remembered where he was and that this was not one of his friends, but the Dark Lord— _ Lord Voldemort _ —hovering over him, he was astounded by his behavior. He hadn’t meant to have fun. It had just happened.

“Don’t stop,” Voldemort panted, eyebrows furrowed in something akin to sorrow. “I have missed your laughter.”

Harry blushed crimson and turned his face away immediately, too shocked to try to calm his rapid heartbeat.

“Look at me,” the man ordered, speaking just barely above a whisper.

Harry shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut. The hand holding his shoulder down, released it in order to grip Harry’s chin gently. Harry saw his opportunity. He snapped his eyes open and used his arms to push himself off the couch. The movement made Tom’s hold on his hip disappear, so, in a few moments, he was entirely on the floor. Voldemort made a frustrated noise above him and climbed over the top of his body. Harry looked up at him in shock. At first, both the man’s hands had been pinning Harry’s shoulders in place to keep him from going any further, but now one of them had returned to gripping his chin.

That handsome face and those dark red eyes grew closer and closer. Harry was too surprised to react before…

…their lips touched.

Harry gasped softly, which made his mouth open just slightly. It allowed the man above him to slip his upper lip between Harry’s. Both of them kept their eyes open until Voldemort leaned back up. They blinked at each other.

If Harry were honest with himself, which was not usually the case, he would have admitted a long time ago, at least inside his own mind, that he found Tom Riddle attractive. He would have also admitted that he had had many dreams about Tom Riddle that had been suggestive. Even if they had ended as nightmares, they had begun as anything but. Harry wasn’t one to accept that side of himself, but…

…right now he was in a daze.

Seeing no sign of rejection, Riddle leaned down slowly. When Harry closed his eyes, their lips came together once more. It sent sparks of electricity throughout Harry’s body. His head felt light and fuzzy. His hands brought themselves up to grip the man’s chest without his permission. His groin was definitely doing things it shouldn’t be doing.

Feeling overwhelmed, Harry turned his face away to break the kiss and panted as he stared at nothing. He hadn’t expected Riddle to begin gliding his lips elsewhere. He started on Harry’s cheek and then traveled from there to his earlobe, which made Harry accidentally emit a noise he’d never heard himself make before. It seemed to only spur the man on because he continued, sucking on his jaw and his neck. Using his tongue. When his teeth gently scraped Harry’s neck, he made another noise and jerked away.

“Tom!” he called out, his voice sounding heavy and foreign to his ears.

When Tom’s gentle fingers—that had never left his chin—gripped him again and made him look up, he took in the sight above him. Tom’s expression was as it had been before, in the hallway. It was deeply loving but overwhelmingly dark.

“Stay with me,” Tom pleaded. “Don’t leave me again. Stop running. You belong here. With me. Everything is ready. Our home by the ocean. I’ve built it. We can live there. Together. Please, Henry.” He leaned down and sucked Harry’s lower lip into his mouth for a moment before speaking again, keeping their lips close. “Tell me you will stay.”

Harry had gotten caught up in Tom’s words until he had called him, “Henry.” It was then that Harry had felt his own sadness wash over him as if someone had just poured a bucket of ice over his head. Even if it had only been for a moment, it had felt nice to be loved. But he was not Henry, therefore…

“I can’t,” he whispered.

Tom jerked back as if Harry had smacked him, and he stared down at him with a heartbreaking expression. It made Harry have to turn his face away. He was not Tom Riddle’s lover. He was Harry Potter, Tom Riddle’s enemy. This was the same man that had killed his parents and countless others. Despite reminding himself of all this, when he looked back up into Riddle’s face, he couldn’t help but feel guilty.

What Tom Riddle wanted…Harry Potter didn’t have.

“Please forgive me,” Tom whispered. “I had every intention to allow you to return of your own free will, but…”

Harry frowned in confusion until he saw the tip of Tom’s white yew wand nearing his face. He immediately attempted to break free of Tom’s hold on him, but it was too late. The blue light of a spell flashed and Harry promptly fell into a deep slumber.

He didn’t hear Tom finish his sentence.

“...I will not lose you.”

 

—

 

Author’s note:

If you noticed, Harry first refers to him as him “Riddle.” When he remembers that “Riddle” is LV, he refers to him as “Voldemort.” When he forgets that “Riddle” and “Voldemort” are the same person, he goes back to referring to him as “Riddle.” And at the end, Riddle/Voldemort has become “Tom” to Harry. I thought it was clever.

 

Follow for chapter updates. Favorite to be sweet. Review to win my heart.

 

Special thanks to my editor, littwink! I am less than perfect when she does not edit my work. I mean, the end result of this chapter that you see here, is draft number 5. I wrote 5 versions of this chapter. She helped me decide the ending because I had finally narrowed it down to 2 different ones.

 

Chapter 12 will be up next week as planned. ;)

 

Lots of love,

Amy


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 10 from Harry’s point of view.**

—

When Harry was already halfway to the snake nest, his mission was interrupted by Horace Slughorn.

"Ah, Mr. Peverell," he greeted in his overly-joyous voice that was young and foreign to Harry's ears, "How lucky I am to have run into you. I see you were headed toward my classroom. Grand! You must have been looking for me, I presume?"

Harry forced a smile and halted to speak to the annoying man. Of course he wasn't looking for him. Why would he assume that?

"Actually, Professor, I-"

He stopped when it dawned on him that it would be highly suspicious if he were going to the Slytherin common room to see Charles Hornby. After what had happened in front of the entire school and staff during breakfast, everyone was well aware that Harry was not a friend to Charles. Not only that, Harry realized, cursing himself internally, but he was rushing through his plans again! He couldn't just waltz down into the Dungeons this early in the evening and teach Hornby a lesson. Half the Slytherin House would be there! He would be outnumbered. Not to mention he could get caught by a staff member.

Suddenly very thankful for Slughorn's interruption, he quickly amended what he had originally planned to say and smoothed over his pause in speech with a fake embarrassed laugh.

"I... Yes, I _was_ searching for you, sir." He had to think quickly. This man was very vain. Harry would simply have to stroke his ego and his suspicious behavior would be ignored entirely. "I have come to learn that you are highly skilled in Potions. More so than I had originally thought."

The man laughed haughtily, but still brightly, feigning a humbleness with his words. "Oh, nonsense, Henry—I may call you Henry, yes?"

Harry nodded immediately. "Of course, sir."

The Professor beamed. "Yes, well, _Henry,_ I have learned quite a bit about you, myself."

Harry knew that was a far cry from the truth. No one knew anything about him in this time period. Slughorn was simply trying to bluff that he had connections where he did not in an attempt to impress him. Harry acted accordingly.

"Oh? Only good things I hope."

The man clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder in a friendly way, just as he had a long time ago in the future. And wasn't that an odd way to phrase it?

"Of course, boy, of course! Nothing but the best can ever be expected of a _Peverell._ " Slughorn smirked down at him and Harry forced his face to remain polite and happy despite the _awful_ word the Professor had just used to address him. "Now… Might I interest you in a proposition?" He leaned down a few inches as if his next words were clandestine. "Pure-blood to Pure-blood?" He winked and leaned back up.

Harry quickly wiped the surprise off his face. To act like a Pure-blood, to learn their ways and to create a persona to fit in with them, was not quite the same as being called a Pure-blood by someone he knew.

Feigning pride the moment he realized that was probably the correct reaction to Slughorn's words, he asked, "And what proposition might that be, Professor?"

"Most likely the same reason you sought me out," Slughorn supplied, removing his hand from Harry's shoulder and turning in a way that Harry knew meant he wanted to walk together with him, side by side. Harry followed suit. "The Slug Club."

Harry's eyebrows rose in surprise and he was happy that he could look forward now that they were walking in order to hide his reaction. He hadn't thought about the Slug Club. He hadn't thought about much of _anything_ other than meeting Tom and aiding him in an attempt to befriend him.

Slughorn didn't seem to notice Harry's pause. He continued to speak as they walked out of the Dungeons. Harry wasn't sure where they were headed, but, if Slughorn wanted him to tag along, he would. He would wait until it was dark to attack Hornby, he decided. That way there would be no staff to catch him in the act and no students awake to witness anything.

"I don't expect you to know much about my little gathering," Slughorn was saying. "Every member is under strict rule not to disclose the details. No need to worry—you will learn soon enough. I would like to personally inform you that you are invited to the next Slug Club meeting tomorrow evening. Dinner will be provided. I will have one of my members escort you to the private location. What say you, Henry?"

An idea came to Harry and he looked up at the man next to him, smiling as innocently as he could. "Might I bring a 'plus one,' Professor?"

Slughorn looked surprised. After a moment, it seemed to be a strong enough emotion for him to actually stop walking to stare down at Harry. Apparently that was not the usual question, nor the usual response, that Horace was used to after inviting a Pure-blood student to attend one of his highly-secret meetings for the "elite." Harry stopped to face him confidently.

He knew just what to say to convince the covetous Professor. "As a Peverell, my family has taught me two things, sir."

Slughorn's greedy face leaned down a bit more as if he needed to be closer to hear this secret information. Everyone wanted to know about Harry’s fake family and their traditions. Harry had every intention to use that to his advantage while he was here. He smirked.

"Never be grateful for an invitation that should be expected."

That made the man's eyes grow wide and burn with greed. He _really_ wanted to covet Harry. Harry needed him to covet _Tom._

"And always bring a guest you hold at high esteem to ensure all attendees are aware _exactly_ whom is allowed in the presence of a Peverell."

Harry was blowing smoke out of his arse, but it seemed to work. Slughorn's lips slowly spread into a pleased smile while his greedy expression remained. Harry felt very accomplished.

"Anyone a Peverell holds in high esteem is more than welcome at the Slug Club," the Professor said, nodding once.

Harry hadn't meant to, but the thought of helping Tom put his foot in the door like this made him grin. "Excellent," he gushed. "T... My _colleague_ , will be pleased."

Horace seemed to be lost in thought, frowning just slightly. After a moment, he asked in a quiet tone, "Could it be that you plan to bring Riddle? The Mud-blood?" He laughed as if such a thing were absurd and Harry’s happiness was instantly gone. "What am I saying? He may be a relatively studious student, and a well-behaved Slytherin at that, but a Peverell would never bring a—"

"Hold your tongue!" Harry spat. The Professor froze in shock. "Tom is the most powerful Wizard in this castle. You would do well to remember that." After a pause, Harry added, "And the term is 'Muggle-born.'" Before Slughorn could say anything in response, Harry turned forward dismissively and walked away. "I will see you tomorrow evening, Professor."

Harry headed toward the Gryffindor tower. They had been walking in that direction anyway. He assumed that the Professor had been planning to walk him to the common room while they spoke. If he tried to catch up to Harry in order to apologize, Harry would have to bite his tongue and accept it, but it didn’t seem he would be doing so. That was a relief.

Horace Slughorn had been more open minded toward Muggle-borns in the future, for all that sometimes his thoughtless comments made it seem otherwise. It had been a shock to hear him make such prejudiced insinuations. Harry had snapped. It hadn’t helped that the man had called him, “boy.” That had been festering within Harry the entire time they had spoken, but he had been adamant to keep his temper in check. At least he had exited on a rather forgiving note by stating that he would still be attending the club meeting.

On his way up the tower steps, he ran into two people, one of which he would have preferred not to see again today. _Professor Dumbledore_ and Headmaster Dippet. They turned to him casually as he approached and came to a stop a few feet below them on the stairs. Their conversation had been interrupted by his appearance, but they did not seem upset.

“Mr. Peverell,” Dippet greeted Harry with a genuine grin.

Harry liked Dippet well enough. He was a nice old man. He seemed wise and fair. He had no outward favorites. He treated everyone well. Harry smiled back at him.

“Good evening, Headmaster.” He nodded to Dumbledore a moment later. “Professor.”

“How are you enjoying your stay at the finest Wizarding school in Britain?”

Harry ignored the suspicious expression lurking behind Dumbledore’s mask of polite interest and answered Dippet’s question honestly. “It has come to be my favorite place, sir.”

“Oh?” Dippet took a moment to chuckle and look to Dumbledore proudly. “You see, Albus?”

“Yes, I suppose you were right, Headmaster,” Dumbledore answered him.

Harry wondered what they had been discussing about him before he had arrived, but it wasn't all that hard to guess. There were holes in Harry’s past that Harry refused to fill. When he had shown up at Hogwarts in the middle of the night on September first, they had demanded answers and records for his previous whereabouts, his family’s whereabouts, and any previous education. He had denied them every answer and they had nearly refused his entrance. He convinced them otherwise and the entire staff voted to allow him to attend as long as he was able to keep up with the second years for the first few weeks. Harry had insisted they keep him at a sixth year level, but, with no previous education records, he was only allowed one more year. Third year. It had worked out though. Tom was a third year. Sharing classes with him for a few weeks was proving to be helpful in his endeavor.

“I have yet to review with the staff. Tell me, how are your classes going?” Dippet asked.

“Very well, sir,” Harry answered swiftly. “It is mostly review.”

“I am sure your family has taught you well. Do they begin with the basics or do they teach more strategically like many Pure-blood families tend to do? After all, there is one type of magic that is the specialty of your family.”

Both the Headmaster and Dumbledore were eyeing him heavily. Harry was sure to look away from their eyes so they would not be able to read his mind. He had no idea what type of magic the Peverells were known for. He had to evade the subject.

“Yes,” he said slowly, pausing for only a moment to think. “There is. However, family traditions are routinely kept private.”

“As private as your family seems to be, Mr. Peverell,” Dumbledore addressed him, speaking slowly with a scornful frown, “you do not seem to keep your own actions out of the public eye. Why would you say that is?”

Harry was floored. Dumbledore was definitely different in this time period compared to his grandfatherly self in the future. To ask Harry so openly about his relationship with Tom and why he wanted the school to know about it… Harry was too shocked to form a sentence.

“Now, Albus,” Dippet chastised with a rather harsh tone that evened out as he spoke, “that is not your place. Discussing such personal matters is impolite and against staff policy. You are well aware of that.” He smiled apologetically at Harry and after a moment, decided to add in a chipper tone, “Besides, the Peverells are known for choosing their mates early on in life.”

Harry’s mouth went dry. Mates? What did he mean by _mates?_ Was Harry missing something vital about his long-dead ancestors?

Dumbledore looked amused and annoyed. “Headmaster, I do believe you are confusing the Peverell family with the Percival family.”

“Nonsense!” Dippet looked shocked.

“And it is no longer common to refer to intended partners as ‘mates.’”

“All three of the famous Peverell brothers found their mates quite young!”

“Their _wives_ were, indeed, young, but the brothers were not so.”

Harry wondered why they were discussing this—and arguing no less. Was he even still considered part of their conversation? Dippet was quite an old man. Perhaps Dumbledore was simply used to the man jumping from subject to subject and indulging him.

“The oldest of the brothers was merely the ripe age of 42,” Dippet was saying. “The youngest was 36. Albus, what is your definition of ‘young?’”

Wait a moment. Harry was beginning to understand. Had they decided to start this argument in the hopes that Harry might open up about his courtship with Tom? Or perhaps about his fake family lineage? Harry knew the Peverells had died off and that they were very well known, but having to deal with everyone using underhanded tactics in an attempt to get him to reveal more was hard to handle.

Whatever their intentions were—Tom or the Peverell traditions—Harry was not going to take the bait.

“As interesting as this is, might I excuse myself?” Harry asked, already doing so by bowing his head respectfully and taking slow steps up the stairs. “I have had a long day and would like to retire.”

“Yes, of course,” the Headmaster smiled warmly, while Dumbledore seemed put out. “Do not forget your meeting with the staff next week.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry nodded once and proceeded to ascend the tower, glad to be rid of them.

Based on Dumbledore’s reaction, as well as Dippet’s lack of a reaction, to Harry leaving, Harry assumed it had been Dumbledore that had planned to trick Harry into divulging more information—to either correct them about his family or talk about his own courting. But why? Sure, it had seemed that Dumbledore had been suspicious of Harry’s lineage when he had first arrived, but he had hardly questioned it. If it wasn’t that, it must be about Tom himself and Dumbledore’s dislike for him. That seemed quite petty.

When he reached the common room, he was happy to see Alexander stand from his spot on the sofa with a wide grin on his face at the sight of Harry. He was Harry’s designated friend—designated by Alex himself when Harry had first arrived. No one else had offered to befriend Harry that first day, so Harry had shrugged it off. Besides, Alex was rather kind and Harry was sure his intentions were honorable. He didn’t seem to want to use Harry for anything. Which was rare. And refreshing.

Alexander was a Pure-blood. His last name was Selwyn. Harry was pretty sure that was of Pure-blood origin. With the exception of the Slytherins, no one pointed out who the Muggle-borns were in this time period. Everyone seemed to know by last names alone. It made Harry have to pay extra attention. He didn't care about blood, but everyone seemed to care about _his_ blood and who he associated with.

“Henry is back!” Alex announced to the room and Harry rolled his eyes when the students within laughed quietly.

Things like this made Harry’s heart ache. The main reason he had accepted Alex so quickly was because he reminded him of someone, for all that he wasn’t sure exactly who. Ron, perhaps? Sirius? A mixture of Fred and George? He didn’t know.

“So,” Alex said, clapping his hand on Harry’s back roughly, “how is your intended?”

“Uhh…” Harry replied inarticulately.

Alex frowned in concern. “You were with him weren’t you? That is why you left dinner early, is it not?”

“Not exactly, no,” Harry replied and blushed when a few girls, that had been eavesdropping openly, made noises reflecting their disappointment. “I was speaking with Professor Slughorn.”

He wasn’t sure how he felt about his entire House being so interested in his courtship with Tom, but he didn’t hate it. If _his_ House was this attentive, the others were most likely paying attention as well. That was good. Harry wanted everyone to leave Tom alone. The more people who knew that Tom was accounted for, the better.

Alex’s eyes had blown wide the moment he had mentioned Slughorn. “You cheeky bastard,” he said, but his tone was filled with awe. “He invited you, didn’t he? You’re part of the Slug Club.” He turned his head to look at his best friend Raglan and they shared a look of greedy curiosity.

Harry, blushing more now that the entire room was whispering about him, forced himself not to stutter. “Well… Yes… He did.”

“Look at you!” Alex beamed at him, smacking his hand against Harry’s back again, hard enough to make Harry nearly lurch forward if he hadn’t braced himself at the last second. He led Harry over to the sofa and most of the Gryffindors present gathered around them. “You are the first Gryffindor to ever set foot in there!”

“Not the _first_ , Alexander,” Raglan corrected him in a sharp tone and Harry turned to look at the boy who was standing behind the sofa peering down at them.

Alex scoffed. “The twins do _not_ count.”

Harry’s heart skipped a beat until he reminded himself that whoever Alex was referring to, they were not Fred and George. “The twins?” he tried to ask nonchalantly, so, naturally, his voice quivered with emotion. He cleared his throat.

“That would be us,” a male’s voice called out and the people gathered around the sofa parted as he and a shorter girl, looking nearly identical to him, made their way to Harry. They appeared to be around Harry’s age: sixteen. The boy held out his hand. “Hector Fawley, the second,” he introduced himself.

Harry vaguely recognized the last name. Must be Pure-blood, he assumed. He shook the boy’s hand with a smile.

“Henry Peverell. Nice to meet you.”

Hector’s twin sister extended her smaller hand as well. “Irene Fawley.”

“Henry Peverell. Nice to meet you.”

Alex scoffed and Harry frowned. His friend wasn’t usually so rude. What had gotten into him? When Harry turned his questioning frown to Alex, he seemed to catch the question.

Sneering at the twins, Alex addressed the boy, “Hello, _Junior._  How is the Minister?” Harry’s eyebrows rose and he turned to see the twins still looking poised and unaffected. “Hector Fawley, the _first..._  Are he and his terrible new laws still active?”

Many students sucked in surprised breaths and Harry noticed most of them fall away. They were retreating.

“Father is in perfect health,” Hector replied and Harry openly gaped at them and then at Alex.

“Thank you for asking,” Irene added politely. “Mr. Peverell,” she addressed Harry, who looked her way immediately, “we are well aware of your stance in regards to blood purity. We share similar beliefs.”

Hector nodded and continued in Irene’s stead. “However, when the issue was addressed in the same club you will be attending, we were escorted out permanently. We implore you to tread carefully.”

Now that they had finished what they had to say, they proceeded to bow their heads respectfully to Harry, and he stood and did the same. Hector looked surprised that Harry was acting so polite to them, but they had not only offered him great advice, they had also bowed to show him extra courteous respect. He knew it was because he was a Peverell, but their attention toward him was gracious despite Harry having never met them before this moment.

“Thank you,” he smiled at them.

They shared a look, one that Harry recognized was something only twins could communicate, before smiling genuinely at Harry and bowing lower than before to indicate they would be taking their leave of the conversation. Harry nodded in acknowledgment of their dismissal and sat back down.

The room was quiet.

Harry looked to Alex, who was staring at him as if he had just sprouted antlers.

“I know you were bred by the famous Peverells, but…”

Harry had no idea what Alex was getting at, so he asked with a confused frown, “What?”

“You look very—” Raglan began and paused until Harry had turned to look him in the eye. Harry saw something in the boy’s expression that made him blush. “— _regal_ …when you are put into a formal setting.”

Alex cleared his throat and Harry was thankful for the reason to look his way. It was then that he remembered that they were still surrounded by quite a few students despite the twins having returned to wherever and a few others having left to avoid any conflict that had not transpired. His face heated up even more.

“Let us not forget that he is taken,” a random boy behind him laughed and everyone seemed to follow suit, except Harry who was twitching uncomfortably because of the attention.

Alex laughed the loudest and smacked his hand against Harry’s shoulder as he usually did. Harry looked at him.

“If you weren’t with your intended, where is he?” he asked.

Harry, relieved to be talking about something else, especially Tom, latched onto the subject. “He has…” He let out a shaky breath. “He has been avoiding me all day.”

Everyone quieted down and leaned forward, much to Harry’s discomfort. “Has he rejected you?” one of the girl’s asked.

“No,” Harry said. “Not exactly. I think he needs space. It’s because of Hornby.” Harry let out a frustrated breath and his expression hardened. “When I’m finished with him, Tom will never have to worry about him again.”

A few girls let out wistful sighs and Harry, surprised to hear them, looked in their direction. They were smiling down at him with dreamy expressions. He was immediately beyond uncomfortable. He stood up and the sudden movement made everyone look surprised. Alex stood up as well.

“Are you alright?” his friend asked, but something in his expression made Harry’s awkward feeling spike. He looked at everyone that had gathered around him and no longer had to wonder why they had done it. They were all looking at him with different levels of awe in their eyes. He turned and swiftly headed toward the dorms.

He heard Alex smooth his abrupt and rude departure over by explaining, “I’m sure he just remembered he needs to do something. His intended has been ignoring him all day. He must be shaken up. No need to worry. After some sleep, I’m sure he will be fine.”

Harry wondered how in the hell he had gathered groupies. Was it because of his courtship with Tom and how openly kind he had been to a Muggle-born? Was it because of his last name? Was it something else? Harry had no idea, but he was highly embarrassed and anxious about it. He slipped onto his bed immediately, closing the curtains and silencing the area. He waited for nightfall by distracting himself with homework and, dare he admit it, books.

When one in the morning came around, Harry silenced his feet and left his dorm. He had yet to cast the disillusionment spell upon himself, so, when he trekked through the common room, he shouldn’t have been surprised when a voice stopped him, but he jumped nonetheless.

“I strongly advise that you hide yourself,” Raglan said from his seat in the corner of the room on the opposite side of the fireplace. “One can never be too careful.”

Harry looked around the room, but they were alone. “Why are you awake?”

“Two reasons,” Raglan supplied as he stood and approached Harry with a stance that was anything but casual. His arms were held behind his back and his posture straight. “One of them being you, of course.” Harry tensed. “I had a feeling you had plans to... _deal_ …with Hornby as soon as possible. I heard about what happened to your intended. To act immediately is a common trait of a true Gryffindor. I suspected you would emerge before long.”

Harry relaxed only slightly. “And the second reason?”

“Herbology is my worst subject,” he chuckled and motioned with an elegant hand toward his homework that he had left on his chair.

Harry laughed and the tension left his body entirely. “I see. I could help you with that. I had a very good friend that taught me more about Herbology than I cared to ever know.”

That same look from earlier returned to Raglan’s face. It was as if he were in awe of Harry, but it wasn’t like the awe he had seen on the faces of people that thought of him as “Harry Potter, the Savior.” It wasn’t hero worship. It was something Harry couldn’t quite place and “awe” was the best way to describe it inside his own mind.

“You are unbelievably kind,” Raglan complimented him out of the blue, surprising Harry. “If you ever find yourself…in need…I hope that you will come to me first.”

“In…need?”

Raglan smiled handsomely. And he was handsome, wasn’t he? Dark hair and dark eyes. A sharp nose and high cheekbones. He reminded Harry of someone.

“Yes,” was his mysterious answer.

Harry wasn’t sure why he felt himself blush, but he did and cleared his throat. “Is that what you wanted to tell me? Why you waited up?”

“No,” he said, his smile disappearing. “I would like to offer my assistance.” When Harry said nothing, he continued. “I know a spell specifically designed for… _certain_ …Pure-bloods.” Harry’s eyebrows rose, but he remained silent and Raglan took that as a sign to explain. “Those that are not particularly fond of Muggle-borns.”

Harry’s interest piqued. “What does it do?”

“It is a curse,” Raglan supplied, taking out his wand slowly and making sure Harry knew it was not with malicious intent. “If anyone speaks the word ‘Mud-blood,’ they will be punished accordingly.”

Harry’s eyes squinted into a suspicious glare. “Why do you know a curse like that?”

Raglan smiled. “I had an intended once,” he said, and Harry could see that the smile did not reach his eyes. “He was a Muggle-born. I am like you, Henry.” His false happiness fell away from his lips. “I will do anything for my intended.”

Harry frowned. “What happened?”

Raglan had to look toward the fire to avoid Harry’s eyes and his own eyes were void of anything but sadness as he replied, “He found my affection to be…frightening. Overbearing. He rejected me.”

Harry’s heart skipped a beat. That wasn’t something he had worried about until now. Of course he worried about Tom rejecting him, but “coming on too strong” was something he hadn’t considered. His fear must have shown on his face because, when Raglan returned his attention to him, he gave him a look of concern and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“I can see that you understand what I am talking about,” he said slowly. “I can also see…when I look at you…that you are not usually the one to take charge.” He was suddenly very close, and Harry wondered why he didn’t take a step back. “I can tell that you prefer to be led rather than lead, but will step forward when the need arises.”

That was true. Harry knew it was expected of him—of Harry Potter—to lead and help others. He had no quarrel with it when it was necessary. Harry was a natural leader, when others asked him to be or when others were in need, but he was quiet and reserved any other time. He wondered how Raglan could tell.

“How did you—”

Raglan interrupted him with a heavy tone. “How did I know? Look at how complacent you are in my presence.” He smiled a small, pleased smile and Harry frowned in confusion. “I take the lead, and people who are dominant, like me, reject my advances. You…respond.”

Now Harry understood why he hadn’t taken a step back to get away from Raglan—a mistake he quickly rectified. Raglan reminded him of Tom. Older Tom. Fifty years from now. Overwhelming. Regal. An air of sophistication and a demand for attention. Raglan wasn’t Tom, but his dark features, perfect posture and manner of speech had affected Harry just a little too much for Harry to forgive himself. No, he was going to yell at himself about this for a long while, he suspected.

Shaking Raglan’s hand off his shoulder, he glared at him. “Alright, that's close enough. Tom is my intended. I won't be swayed.”

Raglan gave him a look that conveyed his respect and a smirk that said just how pleased he was with himself. “Your loyalty is what attracts me to you. That and your overbearing method of courtship.”

Harry fidgeted and blushed. He hadn’t meant to be overbearing. He would really have to work on that.

“I can tell that your love would be just as strong as mine,” Raglan continued. “However, I did not expect you to be swayed too easily.”

“Good,” Harry said firmly.

“Would you like to learn the curse?”

The change in subject distracted Harry and his affirmation had he and Raglan practicing the spell together for the next few minutes. Once Harry had it down, Raglan offered him the counter curse.

“What is it?” Harry asked.

“To counter this curse,” Raglan answered, “your intended must accept your courtship. He must say the words ‘I accept’ into the first gift of courtship given by you.”

Harry was mortified. He had just decided to tone things down and now he was going to make matters worse by holding a curse over Tom’s head? “I don't want to force his consent any more than I already have!”

“Rest assured,” Raglan said, speaking quickly, “there is another way. The second method is for you to say the ‘M’ word yourself and absorb the impact. You will be sent to the infirmary, but it will cancel the effects the curse had upon everyone it encountered.”

Harry was instantly relieved. “Good,” he breathed. “At least I can tell him that he can walk away from me if he wants to.” The thought of Tom rejecting him stung, but after spending time with the future Tom, Harry knew that freedom was not to be taken lightly. When a thought struck him, he asked, “Where does this curse derive its magic from?”

Raglan’s eyes widened for a moment before he smiled down at Harry, his eyes burning with a dark hunger that Harry once again associated with Tom. “You are very intelligent,” he complimented him again and Harry fidgeted. After a moment of watching Harry hungrily, he answered, “It will siphon your magical energy just as your gift does.”

Harry knew the bracelet used his magical energy to remain active at all times. He had assumed that a curse like this, one that had to do with Pure-blood courtships and had been created within the guidelines of the _ancient_ traditions, it, too, had to have a price to pay. It seemed that the intended in a traditional courtship was to be protected and surrounded by the suitor’s magic.

“Thank you for this,” Harry said, nodding in his appreciation. “I will owe you.”

“No,” Raglan smiled a mysterious smile. “This imparting of knowledge is my gift to you.”

Harry frowned in suspicion. “What have I done to deserve such a generous gift?”

“I suppose you have done nothing,” Raglan answered.

Harry glared at the boy before him in hopes of figuring out what he was planning. After realizing he couldn't and that he was wasting precious time, he walked toward the exit. When he turned to say something in departure, Raglan immediately cut him off, still wearing that smile.

“As of yet.”

With that, he turned and walked from the common room, into the dorms, chuckling softly. Harry watched him go, a feeling of dread spreading throughout his chest, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it. Casting the disillusionment spell upon himself, he left. He needed to get down to the Dungeons and stop the unjustified and dangerous bullying that had been taking place for far too long.

Tom.

Harry would think about Tom and _no one else._

As he descended the Dungeons, he wondered how he wanted to do this. How would he find Hornby if he was in bed? How would he reach him without waking the other students while he poked around the dorms? What if there were traps that prevented outsiders from entering the dorms undetected at night?

Once he reached the entrance and hissed the word, “Open,” in Parseltongue, he had made his decision. He would first go to Tom’s dorm and—

All thoughts ceased.

The Slytherin common room was relatively bright. The torches and fireplace were lit as if it were merely evening. Many students were gathered together in different places throughout the room, sitting and laughing. Some were doing homework and studying. Others were casting silly spells in the air. Some of the older students were helping the younger ones with their papers.

Harry was frozen in shock. It was nearly two in the morning and they were wide awake! Who knew Slytherins were night owls?

After a few moments of staring and wondering what the hell he was going to do now, Harry heard laughter to his left. He looked to that corner to find Charles Hornby himself. He was standing in front of a group of first year students who were sitting in a circle and looking up at him in awe. Harry could tell they were first years because Hornby was teaching them the levitation spell. His feather was floating up, and up, and up.

Harry was floored.

Slytherins actually took the time to help each other. In the middle of the night. Older students taught younger ones. Some of them were casually wearing their pajamas. No one was acting as if they needed to be proper in front of each other. They were acting like…a family.

At first, Harry had felt guilty for ever assuming Slytherins were anything other than this. At first, he had thought to leave them alone.

Until he remembered…

…Tom.

Tom was not included in their family of snakes. Tom was openly ostracized during the day and too harassed at night to sleep in the dorms with the other students. Harry felt his rage bubble up from the pit of his stomach. It almost clouded his judgment, but he remembered his original plan. He would first go to Tom’s dorm room and spell his bed so no one would be able to approach it again. No one but Tom…

…and Harry, of course.

He silently made his way down the stairs leading to the dorms. Once inside Tom’s dorm room, he hurried to Tom's bed. He noticed that the most of the students inside were sleeping soundly and he wanted to hex them. Tom was sleeping somewhere else because no one stood up for him. Not even his dorm-mates. He took out his wand, but aimed it only at the bed. He cast any spell he could think of. A barrier. A permanent silencing spell that would only work when Tom was not in danger. A charm to ward off wandering eyes from looking in Tom’s direction.

Tom would love it if he could call his things to himself if he left them behind!

Harry had been shocked that this spell was only allowed to be cast and used when it was a gift from a suitor to their intended or from a husband to their spouse. There were so many useful spells in the ancient books that were only allowed to be used for certain traditions. It was actually quite ridiculous.

When he finished, he immediately went back upstairs. Nothing had changed in the few minutes he had been gone. Everyone was still blissfully unaware of his presence. He wondered if he should declare a duel respectfully or stay hidden and attack Charles alone. If he removed the disillusionment spell, he would be fighting at least ten people, but attacking him while silent and invisible was too underhanded for Harry. It didn’t sit well with him even if it was the smarter choice.

But wait…

He wasn’t attacking him. Not really. The curse was the worst spell he would be using tonight. Everything else he had planned were just simple pranks that he had learned from watching Fred and George. He had used the invisibility cloak and scared the devil out of Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. It wouldn’t be terrible to do the same thing to Charles, who deserved it far more than Malfoy ever did.

And that was saying something if you asked Harry.

He took out his wand and…

…stopped.

The kids around Charles were just that. Kids. They were eleven. They didn’t need to witness this. If Harry openly announced that he wanted to duel, no one was allowed to interfere and, even if they did, they would wait until the children were safely in their dorms. Harry tucked his wand away as soon as he finished revealing himself.

At first, nothing happened. He stood at the top of the stairs that led to the boy’s dorms and no one noticed him. Until one of the girl’s on his right, over near the fireplace, pointed at him after taking a second look in his direction.

“A Gryffindor!” she called out.

When all eyes were on him, including Hornby’s, who looked both shocked and, oddly, happy to see him, he smiled a wide, charming grin. “Hello, everyone. If you are not already aware, my name is—”

“Peverell!” Charles chimed in, grinning in excitement as he strode toward him with confident, long strides. “Come to see me?”

Harry clasped his hands behind his back and walked forward. They met in the middle of the room and spoke directly to each other.

“I have actually,” Harry answered honestly, watching the older boy cautiously as he stopped merely a foot away from him.

Charles brought a hand up to Harry’s cheek, but, rather than place it there as Harry had expected, he gently stroked the side of Harry’s face with only two of his fingers. Harry grimaced and jerked back.

Charles laughed. “Apparently it is not the type of visit I was hoping for.”

Harry openly scowled as his eyes traveled down and back up Hornby’s body. “Definitely not,” he replied, irritated that all Hornby’s reaction was to smile wider and let out a quick, genuinely amused chuckle. “No, I am here to right a wrong.”

Charles’s eyebrows rose, but Harry could see his amusement fading. He knew what Harry was about to begin. “Oh?” he feigned ignorance.

“I challenge you to a duel.”

His grin was back full force and it was malicious. “Do you now? I accept.”

He was already drawing his wand when Harry frowned and made him stop by holding out his hand with his palm facing outward. “There are children present.”

Charles didn’t look around or seem to care. His eyes lit up with mischief. “Should we…take this somewhere—” he gave Harry a very suggestive look “—private?”

Harry scrunched up his nose and took a step back, readying his own wand out of pure irritation. “Here is preferable, but children are not allowed.” He looked to the older Slytherin students that were watching them idly. “Please send them to their beds.”

The younger years began to file out, but Harry noticed something odd. They were whispering and giggling to each other. Perhaps they were simply expecting Hornby to win, so they were not worried. Perhaps they didn’t care. Either way, Harry shrugged it off. Most of the older students remained behind, sitting on either side of the room.

Harry and Charles were now facing each other, standing properly for a duel. A large amount of space was between them, as was customary, and furniture was moved aside to allow them better movement.

When the children were finally gone, Charles was the first to begin. He cast three spells in quick succession. They were simple ones. Nothing harmful. Nothing fancy. Harry wasn’t surprised. They had only just begun. Besides, due to the way Charles had practically danced during his wand movements, Harry assumed he was just showing off.

Arrogant prick.

Harry countered, and sent his own relatively harmful hexes. He hadn’t even cast the curse yet. There didn’t seem to be a reason to. Hornby was seemingly having fun at the moment. Harry had honestly pictured their battle to be more anger-driven. When he won, it would be. The other students watching wouldn’t keep quiet. He’d cast the curse _then_ , he supposed.

He was torn out of his lazy thoughts when he was almost nicked in the shoulder by a slightly darker spell that he didn’t recognize. He had felt its magic and power. It had not been light. Besides, Harry knew practically every light spell there was when it came to duelling and everyday pranks. When he didn’t know a spell, that usually meant it was not taught or accepted by Hogwarts’ curriculum. It had to be dark.

His eyelids narrowed into a glare. He stepped forward and cast a little more seriously now. Someone off to his left chuckled and a few others seemed to begin speaking to each other on the sidelines. He wasn’t paying close attention, but they seemed to be making fun of him. It wasn’t that he cared, but when a few spells were mentioned—again, ones he did not recognize—he knew where this duel was about to go.

Hornby did not intend to stick to the rules of light magic.

Harry’s defense instinctively rose. He dodged two purple balls of light and successfully blocked an electric spell. He recognized that one by sight. Tom had used it in the future against Snape. Harry had no idea what that spell was. Apparently it was rather weak. It didn’t damage his magical shield at all. It was also well-known if Hornby knew it and used it loosely.

Who taught these dark spells to the students in this time period? Was the curriculum different now and Harry hadn’t noticed?

“Come on, Peverell,” Hornby teased loudly, and Harry twitched in surprise when he heard much more laughter than he should have. It was coming from behind him. “Is that the best you’ve got?”

Harry looked over his shoulder and his eyes widened in surprise. All the first years were sitting about ten feet from him, maybe four feet in front of the dorms’ stairwells. Behind them were other students. Some looked to be in third year, others in fifth, seventh. More were gathering. Coming up the steps and watching excitedly.

Before he could rectify this mess, he was hit square in the chest and thrown backwards a few feet. Landing on his arse, he snapped his attention back to Charles. Everyone was laughing while Hornby pranced from side to side, looking more fired up and energetic than before Apparently, the git liked an audience.

“Oh no,” an older student that had been sitting on the sofa to his left, near the entrance, since their fight had begun, mocked him. “Did that hurt? The famous Peverell family does not seem to be living up to our expectations.”

Words of agreement resounded in the crowd of people behind him. More mocking commentators made their opinions heard, but Harry stood up and drowned them out. He was angry now. There was no “going easy” on Hornby anymore. Harry would make a fool of him in front of his entire House. Realizing just how perfect this scenario was, he began dueling in earnest.

He dodged, cast, blocked, and rebound as he grew closer and closer to his opponent. Charles’ grin was gone now. He was sweating and had begun casting _much_ darker spells. Harry had decided that pranking this bully was not good enough. It was not _nearly_ good enough. He was going to make him pay for every moment that he had made Tom’s life hell for absolutely no reason at all.

When one of his spells finally made contact and sent Charles flying, someone from the now-heated crowd shouted something that made his momentary feeling of victory disappear.

“Blood traitor!”

Harry turned on his heels in an instant and lifted his wand up high, pointing it directly at the ceiling as he scowled upon the crowd. “Alles sed paenitebit skal asendare!”

Everyone looked confused for a moment and it seemed as if nothing had happened. No light spewed from the tip of his wand. No feeling of magic settled within the room. Nothing changed and therefore, after a cautious moment, the Slytherins laughed.

“Was that even Latin?” someone shouted.

“Did the Mud-bloods teach you that fake spell?” someone cackled.

“What a joke. Go home, Mud-blood lover!” another called out.

“Where is the little Mud-blood?” This one was female.

“Did the filthy Mud-blood ask you to fight his battles? How pathetic.”

“I’ll bet the Mud-blood doesn’t—”

And that was when it happened. The weight of the air within the room grew heavier. It bore down on everyone inside, including Harry himself. The first victims of the curse—everyone that had just said the word “Mud-blood”—were being lifted into the air at a quick velocity. Their backs and skulls smacked hard against the ceiling. A few of them were instantly knocked unconscious. The others cried out in fear, but Harry silenced their futile wailing. He then did something that stunned the entire room into silence.

Using his wand, he wrote in the air. His furious face never looking away from the ceiling for even a moment. Many of the students on the ground gasped and made horrified sounds when they saw what he was doing. Stretched across the skin of their faces, the sloppy, written word, “tyrant,” began to appear. It was black and bold and, if their expressions were any indication, painful.

A flash of red caught Harry’s eye just in time and he dodged a spell that Hornby had shot at him. He turned to see that the bully was back on his feet, but it was obvious that he was hurting. He swayed back and forth, unable to balance himself.

Harry was back at it. Casting spell after spell while Charles had to strain to keep up just enough to dodge and block. Harry was relentless. His anger was at its peak. After a few short minutes that passed in the blink of an eye, Harry was standing over Hornby. The bully was unarmed and trembling in pain. Harry's wand was pointed directly between his eyes.

Unexpectedly, Hornby had the audacity to _spit_ directly onto Harry's hand, but Harry made no move to remove it. He acted as if he could care less, knowing it would only further anger the defeated Slytherin.

“Go on then,” he egged Harry on. “Finish it.” But his tone changed and he lowered his volume. “Just don’t put me on the ceiling. I will lose to you with dignity. Even a blood traitor should understand that.”

Harry’s eyes flashed with glee. “Just answer one question,” he said, his tone even. “What is Tom?”

Charles looked stupid for a moment while he processed Harry’s odd inquiry. “What?” was all he could think of to reply.

“What…is…Tom?” Harry repeated slowly.

Charles seemed to be insulted that Harry had spoken down to him and that fueled his answer. “A worthless Mud-blood!” he seethed.

Harry’s lips stretched into a dark grin and Hornby had a short moment to look frightened before he was lifted into the air. However, Harry had other plans for him. He willed his magic to smack Hornby into the wall rather than allow him to reach the ceiling. He then dragged his body alongside him as he walked a few feet to the fireplace, where he perched him. Sprawled out and vulnerable.

Harry wondered if he wanted turn him upside down, but thought better of it. Well… He decided to play a little anyway by motioning his wand in a circle in the air, which forced Hornby’s body to follow suit. He spun him around and around for quite some time and didn’t bother to silence his screaming. It was like music to Harry's ears.

When he realized just how frightening his thoughts were becoming, he stopped.

Hornby was panting and making gagging noises as if he were about to hurl. It was when he let out a sigh of relief that Harry's manic anger returned.

“You have no right to feel any kind of relief!” Harry shouted, spinning him in circles again.

After a moment of consideration, he realized exactly what Charles Hornby deserved.

Stopping the mild torture once again, Harry flicked his wand and stripped the boy of his shirt and robe. They flew somewhere Harry didn’t care to look. He grimaced in annoyance when he had to flick his wand a second time to remove his suspenders. Harry wanted his entire torso exposed.

Now that it was, he began to carve exactly what he thought of the bully on the wall, taking joy in the sounds of Charles’s shouts of agony. Of course, his joy only lasted a short while. The sounds quickly became annoying. He cast a quick stunner (wanting one last scream) and a silencing spell.

After finishing his sloppy handiwork, he figured there was no reason to keep Charles awake. It was time for him to go to sleep. Harry proceeded to flick his wand forward and back, watching in satisfaction as the bully’s body lurched forward before smacking back against the wall repeatedly until he eventually passed out.

Harry cocked his head to the side as if he needed to do so in order to read the words carved into Hornby’s chest. “Cheap shag,” they read and he chuckled.

“How did you _do_ that?” a random male student asked, his voice carrying throughout the silent room and sounding, oddly, as if he were awestruck.

Harry looked around to see that everyone was gathered near the dormitory stairwells. They were packed together and standing as a unit. As far as Harry could tell, none of them had their wands drawn, but they were definitely on the defensive.

“Your name is Henry, correct?” a girl asked as she hesitantly stepped forward. She was probably a year younger than him. She was batting her large innocent eyes at him and Harry frowned at her in confusion. “Please, Henry, let our friends down. You’ve had your duel.”

Harry realized that she was attempting to manipulate him by using charm. That was something only Tom was able to do. She had no power over him. He was both surprised and relieved about that. After what had happened earlier with Raglan, he had been worried that he was still easy to manipulate even after everything the future Tom had taught him.

“Before I do,” he said, twirling his wand in his hands idly and eyeing the entirety of the Slytherin House before him with an eerie calm that even he didn’t quite understand, “I have a question. For all of you. What is Tom?”

“Filth!” someone spat instantly.

A few others seemed to agree with that person and weakly called out in agreement. They were afraid, but some of them were still brave enough to shout the ‘M’ word. Everyone who did, levitated to the ceiling and he wrote on their faces as well. When he cast his eyes back down to the crowd, they all shifted nervously under his scrutiny.

“I ask again,” he said. “What is Tom?”

“I don’t _care_ how you are able to single out each person without moving your wand!” An angry seventh year lunged forward out of the group and pointed his wand at Harry. “I don’t care if you punish _all_ of us. Riddle is _rubbish._ He is _worthless._ His blood is dirty—”

“Confringo!” Harry shouted.

The blasting curse hit its target and the boy flew into the remaining students behind him. Anyone that had been within reach of the spell had jumped out of the way.

“Enough of this!” Another girl came forward. “Just let them go!” she begged, pointing up at the ceiling.

“What do we have to do?” a much younger student whined and Harry felt sorry for a moment that they had to be here for this.

“You will leave Tom alone,” Harry demanded, speaking loudly and authoritatively. “You will no longer call him names. You will allow him to remain down here whenever he wishes, _especially_ at night. You will—”

“Why should we?” a boy shouted and a few others murmured their agreement indistinctively. “You won’t leave them up there forever.”

“I will remain all night if I have to,” Harry said with an unimpressed expression.

A girl gasped. “No! Katherine, I will get you down. Hold on!” She came forward and pointed up at her friend. “Katherine and I have always left Riddle alone. _Please!”_

Harry scowled at her. “That is not good enough,” he replied coldly. “I want every Slytherin to agree to my terms.”

“And then you will release them?” she asked, her tone high-pitched and pleading.

“This curse is designed specifically for traditional courtship,” Harry announced to everyone, scanning the room to look in their eyes. “I will—”

That same girl gasped again, effectively interrupting him. “Your intended must accept your invitation to courtship for it to break.”

The crowd of students began to mutter amongst themselves for a moment before another female student hesitantly stepped out. “I volunteer,” she seemed to tell the group of people she was closest to.

Harry wasn’t sure what was going on. He hadn’t thought they would know about the methods of countering this curse. What were they planning?

The ‘volunteer’ turned her attention to Harry and her eyes were not fearful, just deep and calculating. “I will retrieve Mr. Riddle for you, Mr. Peverell,” she told him politely and the whispering of the others grew louder. “We know where he sleeps. I am confident that I will be able to successfully bring him here to accept you.” She walked toward him and the whispers died as they cautiously watched his reaction to her approach. She held out her hand. “Please give me the first gift you bestowed to your intended.”

Harry was shocked and speechless and hopeful and uncertain and…

He handed her the bracelet after only a few seconds of consideration. If she could bring Tom and he could see what Harry had done… Wait… What if Tom thought it was too overbearing? He remembered what Raglan had said and now he was changing his mind, but the girl had already sprinted out of the common room as fast as she could.

After a few long minutes passed, the Slytherins began to talk quietly. Harry ignored them, lost in his own worrisome thoughts. He hadn’t meant to hurt the other students. He hadn’t even meant to hurt Charles this badly. It had just happened. He was honestly shocked with himself. How could he carve words into their skin? How could he allow the _younger_ students to remain on the ceiling? They had to be so frightened.

Guilt overwhelmed him. He silently cast the counter spell to his writing. It wasn’t permanent. It was a prank spell. But it _was_ painful. He erased the words and replaced them with illusions. That way none of the others would be able to tell he had decided to be kind. As guilty as he was feeling, he couldn’t help but be thankful that he had frightened them enough that they might allow Tom to _at_ _least_ sleep in the Dungeons with them without issue. Even that small triumph was worth it to Harry.

After seeing Tom crying on his bed, hugging his knees, alone, afraid…

It had been shocking and horrifying. He had never been bullied so badly and he had never seen anyone forego something so awful before. The fact that it was happening to an innocent boy (relatively innocent) just because he was believed to be a “Mud-blood” only made it worse. Perhaps this was the entire reason Tom had decided to hate all Muggle-borns and Muggles. They really had been the reason his life had been a living hell. Inadvertently, but _still_ . Harry knew that he, personally, would have decided to hate Pure-bloods instead, but Tom was... _unique_ in his thinking. Maybe Harry could ask Tom about it when they became closer.

If he didn’t open up, he could ask Tom in the future. His answer had been vague the last time Harry had tried to address the issue, but Harry had a feeling that if he were to ask it after he had recently returned to Tom’s arms from living in the past, the man might divulge more information.

Just when Harry was beginning to believe that the girl had failed to either retrieve him or convince him to come, Tom walked into the common room. His attention was cast downward, but the moment he looked up, his face revealed his surprise and he froze in place. The girl walked passed him to rejoin the others and Harry watched Tom's dark brown eyes analyze the room.

Harry’s fears from earlier returned with a vengeance.

_What if he thinks this is too much? What if he rejects me? What if I screwed everything up?_

He watched Tom scrutinize his Housemates and spared them a glance to see why Tom was so interested in them. Oh. They were sitting wherever they could. That included upon any large, protruding, decorative objects upon the far wall. How and why some of them had floated that high just to sit down was beyond Harry.

Perhaps it was an vengence strategy! They could attack by having the students on the ground distract him while the ones along the wall fired spells from up high. Now paranoid, Harry immediately backed away from the fireplace until he stood alone on the opposite side of the room. He glared at them warily until the more sensible reason popped into his mind: they had been attempting to save their friends on the ceiling.

Harry hadn't even noticed. He had been too lost in thoughts about…

Tom!

Harry's attention zeroed back in on the younger boy still hovering uncertainly near the exit. The surprise that had been so palpable on his face earlier was still there, but far less pronounced. He was gazing at Hornby’s body on display. Harry's nervousness returned and he clenched his fists at his sides to hide that they were shaking. He thought to say something, but Tom spoke first.

“Is he dead?”

Harry didn't think to analyze the tremor of emotion he heard in Tom's voice. All he could focus on was his newest plan.

Downplay the entire situation.

_Make it seem like a joke,_ he told himself quickly.

“Of course not,” Harry said, and when Tom's wide eyes finally locked on him, he gulped, but kept his posture tense and his hands down. Tom would _not_ see his composure crumble. “I am not a killer.” He had meant to lift his tone so that statement would sound lighthearted. He had failed. “However...” He was trying to salvage his intention to make this some kind of humorous, but he knew he was failing. He looked to Hornby and said the first thing that came into his mind when he looked back at Tom. “I do hate bullies.”

He had failed to downplay anything.

Tom was still wide-eyed and taken aback. He was going to reject Harry. Harry was doing everything he could to remain still and poised, but, inside, he was breaking down.

“You did this,” Tom said.

“You seem…” Harry had to pause to swallow. “...shocked.”

_He is going to turn around and leave without letting me explain. This looks really bad. It looks terrible! He's not going to listen. I have to say something!_

“I did not have to take things quite _this_ far, but he fought me.”

_Maybe he'll listen if he's intrigued. Maybe he'll want to hear what happened._

Harry knew Tom hadn't seen the others, so he looked up at the ceiling. “They all did."

_That's a stretch, but…_

“I hadn't meant to do more than a few prank spells to humiliate them..." He trailed off because now he felt like he was lying _and_ bragging. That was not the plan! He needed to _downplay_ it.

His fearful eyes took in Tom's expression that was impossible to read. For all Harry knew, Tom was still shocked. Right now he just seemed surprised and eerily calm. All Harry cared about was the fact that he hadn't run away yet. He was still here. He was listening to Harry's side of the story.

“I can't read it from down here.” Tom's statement made Harry pull himself from his thoughts. “What does it say?”

He had to be talking about the word on each student's face up there. It was hard to read an illusion. He told him it was the word, “tyrant.” He saw the shift in Tom's facial features. He knew this look. He was suspicious.

“They _all_ fought you? There are at least fifty of them. How were you able to defeat that many students?"

He was glaring at Harry who couldn't help but laugh at himself. He'd already been caught in his lie. “I stand corrected,” he said through his chuckle, looking down in embarrassment. "I didn't fight _all_ of them. Most of them were cursed simply for saying the 'M' word."

Tom paused and his face instantly became hardened. "Mudblood."

Harry noticed him look over at the crowd of students and he did the same. They were leaning forward, their expressions a mixture of apprehensive, hateful, and, for some reason, hopeful. Harry frowned at them in confusion until he understood. They wanted Tom to be affected by the curse as well. Anger boiled up from Harry’s stomach. Had they learned nothing? Hadn’t he been perfectly clear?

“Stupefy!” someone shouted and Harry immediately lifted his wand. He had every intention to cast down the attacker when he realized where the spell was headed. He watched in horror as it sped toward Tom. His eyes zeroed in on Tom’s face. He was squeezing his eyes shut. It was too late. It was going to make contact. Harry couldn’t react quick enough. His heart felt like a deadweight inside his chest.

The spell engulfed Tom’s figure and disappeared. Harry was unable to move for a moment, unsure what had just happened. Tom opened his eyes as well, his own face full of confusion and surprise. Harry looked at Tom’s outstretched arm where he wand was pointed uselessly at the attacker. Upon his wrist was the snake bracelet. It was dimming now from a glow that meant it had just been activated. Harry lowered his wand and let out a long breath of relief.

“You’re wearing it,” he stated breathlessly.

He could feel himself smiling, but the adrenaline of his previous fear really hadn’t worn off. His heart was still beating erratically. Tom peered at him before turning his attention to the bracelet. Realization dawned on him. Harry watched his expressions with rapt attention. He had to see how Tom felt about the bracelet protecting him. Would he be happy or insulted? Would he accept it or continue to demand that Harry take it back? After long, agonizing moments of Tom staring down at the snake, seemingly lost in his own whirlwind of thoughts, he snapped his attention back to Harry. His eyes were wide and he was frowning. He still looked shocked, but there was something else too. Fearing it was repulsion, loss of pride, or something else just as bad, Harry immediately took a step forward as if to ward any negative feelings away from Tom. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe he had wanted to touch him. Make sure Tom knew Harry meant him no harm. But when Tom took a step back…

...Harry panicked.

His heart was pounding painfully against his ribcage and his own eyes were wide as well. His entire body trembled, but his hands showed it the most. He tried to hide it. That was his instinctual reaction whenever he felt vulnerable like this. Hide. He attempted to do so by standing as still as he could, but he couldn’t. He was gasping for air as if he couldn’t breath. He ran a hand through his hair as he always did when he was overwhelmed and decided to speak. Maybe if he explained himself, Tom wouldn’t reject him.

Through fearful intakes of breath, he hurried through his words, “I know this must seem too elaborate, but I…I did not plan it this way. I was going to do this slowly. I was going to let you get to know me before I even gave you the bracelet. I had every intention to ask your permission first. Don’t feel pressured.” He wanted to repeat that last sentence, but he didn’t. “I just… I just…” He couldn’t hold it in. He couldn’t hide that he was panicking. He knew it was obvious. He had to explain! He raised his voice and motioned toward the entirety of the room with his arm. It was a frantic gesture. “The way they were treating you was so much worse than I could have ever imagined. Before I knew it, you were wearing the bracelet and I was suddenly here...dueling. And...and…” He trailed off, feeling as if he sounded so completely pathetic. His panic turned to a lack of energy within moments. He was still trembling. His heart was still beating too quickly, but he felt so drained. “You don’t have to accept me if you don’t want to. You can walk away.”

“No!” a female voice shouted and he turned his head to scowl at her. He hated the reminder that he and Tom were not alone. “Katherine is up there!”

Oh, it was that girl from earlier. He wasn’t really keeping track. She had mentioned Katherine, he vaguely remembered. Not that he cared. “Katherine” had said that disgusting word while thinking of Tom. She deserved to be punished.

“Shut it!” one of the other Slytherins shouted after everyone had begun to make a ruckus. He openly glared at Tom and Harry lifted his wand immediately. “Peverell created this curse,” he told Tom. That wasn’t true, but it didn’t really matter. “The only way it can be lifted is if you accept his courtship.” Oh no. “You have to say the exact words, ‘I accept’ into the bracelet.” Harry thought about hexing this guy, but he couldn’t bring himself too. He wanted to see Tom’s reaction to this information. “If our friends are not released, I am not afraid to go to the Headmaster to-”

Okay, that was more than enough. Harry had to do damage control. He had to make sure Tom did not accept his courtship just because he felt he had to. “I hadn’t expected you to actually bring Tom here,” he called out. “I had only said that to frighten you. I can lift the curse myself. Tom has nothing to do with it.”

“Then release them!” that same annoying girl shouted. The others joined her, yelling at him in protest. This might get out of hand, Harry realized. He kept his gaze unwaveringly upon the crowd. Even if Tom was safe from spells, that didn’t make Harry feel any less protective. Especially against this many people. Physical violence would find them both in the infirmary. Or worse.

There was an unexpected ripple that overcame the air in the room. The weight of the curse felt as if it had been lifted. The magic in the air shifted from defensive to light and fading. The bodies upon the ceiling began to slowly drift down toward the ground. Harry then realized what had happened and immediately looked at Tom. The younger was holding the bracelet up to his chest and watching the students return to the floor. When he finally looked at Harry, his expression was calm and hard to read, but his eyes were filled with emotion.

Harry wasn’t sure how to feel.

He was overjoyed, that was true, but he was worried that Tom had only accepted him because of the others. He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but he couldn’t help it. He was hoping.

“Peverell!” a voice boomed throughout the room.

Harry was immediately alert and ready to strike as he turned his attention to the bully who was lifting himself up off the ground.

“Get this off...me…”

Harry did. With a very small, unnoticeable flick of his wand that he had lowered to his side to hide. The writing on Hornby’s torso was instantly healed. Harry didn’t want Tom to think he was too violent. Or overwhelming. Or overbearing. Or...anything else that might ruin everything.

He barely noticed that everyone was leaving with their newly-released friends. He walked right up to Tom. He still felt the need to explain what had happened. He hadn’t realized how crazy he looked because of what he had done tonight until Tom had walked inside.

“I am an elaborate prankster,” he decided to call himself. Tom jumped, not having noticed that he had approached. His brown eyes peered up at Harry, who tried very hard not to smile at the sight of them. He needed to seem absolutely sincere. “Nothing more. I hope you didn’t get the wrong idea.”

Upon further inspection of Tom’s expression and body language, Harry realized that he was practically asleep on his feet. What time was it anyway? How long had he been dueling?

Harry hadn’t realized he had done it until Tom took his offered hand. Harry’s inner fears melted away and warmth replaced it. Tom was so adorable. Harry couldn’t get past it. He was so young and… Well, not innocent really.

But young and adorable.

“Come with me,” he said, leading Tom toward the crowd of people that were headed down into the dorms. “Your second gift is already prepared.”

"I am _not_ finished!" Hornby was suddenly in their faces, blocking them from the staircase. He lifted his wand and, at first, Harry thought to do the same, but, when he saw how exhausted Charles really appeared, he took pity on him. When the silent spell came at them a second later, Harry simply lifted Tom’s hand to shield them both. It did its job and absorbed any damage.

“Go to sleep, Charles,” Harry demanded, hoping he sounded as pitiful as he could to further Hornby’s humiliation. “You will never touch Tom again and I have just defeated you before your entire House. Your reputation is forever tarnished.”

Charles seemed shocked, as if he had only just realized the truth in Harry’s words, before he visibly deflated in defeat. So much so that he dropped to one knee. Harry allowed himself to feel at least a little bit of sympathy, but no more than that. After what Tom had been through, Hornby had been given a kind removal from his throne as the “Head of Slytherin.” That title belonged to Tom.

He led Tom around the fallen opponent and down the stairs to the boys’ dorms. They walked straight into Tom’s room and Harry smiled when he noticed Tom was looking for his second gift in excitement. They walked up to Tom’s bed and Harry explained.

“Your bed cannot be approached by anyone other than you. The curtains can only be closed and opened by you. Your belongings are also behind the barrier and cannot be touched.” He make sure to watch Tom’s reaction to this part: “Anything you place on top of your bed can be transported to you if you whisper its name into the bracelet.”

The younger boy’s excitement lit up his tired face. “What? No matter where I am?”

Harry smiled happily, the hope that Tom had honestly accepted his courtship only growing. “As long as you are inside the castle.”

For some reason, Tom took out his familiar, white, yew wand and examined it. “What about my wand?”

Harry frowned in confusion. "You mean, can you call it if you leave it on your bed? Yes."

Tom shook his head. "If I lose it, is there a way to..."

The shake of Harry’s head stopped him from finishing his question.

"But Ollivander has many different tools for wands," Harry pointed out, relieved to see Tom perk up. "I'll buy you anything you need."

"When can we go?" Tom asked eagerly.

If he wanted to go that badly, then Harry would find a way to leave as soon as possible. He was about to tell Tom that when the light in the room went out and they both looked around. Everyone else was in bed. Harry flicked his wand to light the candle beside Tom’s bed.

“If I get permission from the Headmaster,” he was now able to say, “we can go tomorrow.”

Harry watched with an interested frown as Tom flicked his wand. When the barrier shimmered a light blue before becoming invisible once more, he realized that he had forgotten one more piece of information about his second courtship gift.

"Did I forget to mention that it is also silenced?" he asked sheepishly. When he saw Tom’s immediate reaction, which was to tense up and freeze in fear, he quickly elaborated. "You can only be heard by others if you are distressed. I made sure of that." Tom relaxed and Harry found himself doing the same, but it was harder for him to do so. His adrenaline was still affecting him. “I know they used silencing spells on your bed when they trapped you inside.” Now anger was as well. He felt himself reacting, but quickly regained control. “I didn’t want you to think you might not be heard if you ever need help.”

Tom nodded and a moment later, he was yawning.

So adorable.

Harry smiled down at him. “You should sleep. Skip classes until lunch. I will tell the professors that you are ill.”

He stood to leave, but Tom grabbed his hand. Surprised and elated, Harry looked down at him. It was immediately apparent what was wrong. Tom wanted to say “thank you.” Harry hadn’t expected him to and, honestly, he was shocked that he wanted to. He knew younger Tom would be a challenge, as he had very little social skills or understanding of social interaction because of his lack of friends and companionship in general… Harry had to stop thinking about that. It was making him both sad and angry.

Hoping to portray that he understood what Tom couldn’t say, he slowly bent down and kissed Tom’s hand. He hoped the boy did not notice the way his lips quivered with emotion. Even if he did, Harry didn’t want to remove them just yet.

Not yet.

He kept his eyes open so he could see the bracelet. He hadn’t meant to, but he found himself lifting his free hand up to close around it. He just needed to feel that it was really there.

When he finally stood back up, his entire body was thrumming with _...something..._ and he knew he couldn’t stay any longer because of it. He bowed his head to Tom, lingering only a moment to memorize the blush on the younger boy’s cheeks before turning and rushing out of the room.

The semi-erection in his pants was something he took care of when he was alone in his own bed.

He missed the older version of Tom.

But he could wait.

 

—

 

**Author’s Note:**

 

I really had to struggle with myself while writing this, which is why it took me so long to release it to you guys. I hope you can forgive me.

My reasoning was this: “This is too out of character for canon Harry.”

But this _isn’t_ canon Harry. This is _my_ Harry. I had to remind myself that. Over and over.

To further support my view of Harry in this chapter, I’d just like to say that his new-found viciousness is _not_ out of character (for who he is in this story), is _not_ new for him in this story (technically), and _will_ be explained during the future time-line (the odd numbered chapters). I won’t reveal more, but please don’t judge my darker/more violent Harry too much before you learn _why_ he has become this way.

Also, if you are expecting Tom’s point of view for the next chapter…I’m not sure I will do that. I feel as if I portrayed his side of their second encounter together rather well.

I am very, _very_ excited to write chapter 13.

Expect it soon.

Lots of love,

Amy

P.S. Thank you all so much for every single amazing review/comment. All of them warmed my heart and forced me to keep grinding through this long, difficult writer’s block.

Thank you for all the love and support.

I hope you did not give up on me.

I am back and ready to write!


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